


Method and Madness

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Psycho-Pass, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Cyberpunk, Cyborgs, Dystopia, Eye Trauma, First Dates, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Hospitalization, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Office Sex, Police, Psycho-Pass 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 85,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18847837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Jotaro taps at the hologram to focus on the topmost item. 'It says I should join the Public Safety Bureau.' He holds his wrist out for his mother’s consideration as she comes forward to see. 'As an Inspector for Criminal Investigations.'" Jotaro isn't convinced when his competency tests recommend him to a career as an Inspector, but hunting down an old target of his grandfather's proves far better persuasion than he expected.





	1. Opportunities

All Jotaro wants to do is go home.

It’s been a long day at school. High school has seemed a waste of time ever since he made his way through the fundamental classes offered to first- and second-years; now, with the majority of his last year behind him, it’s difficult to get himself out of bed and onto the transport that bears him to the front gates of the towering building where he is meant to be getting an education. Half his classmates have left already, dropping from their last year to join the endless crowds that make up the workforce that keep the gears and cogs of the city running smoothly; those that remain are the highest performers, those with their sights set on one of the rare research positions at the university at the outskirts of the city or who have passed their initial test for one of the professions that require years more specialized education, or those like Jotaro, who thus far have been spared the option of something more interesting to do with their time than finishing out the high school track on which they have been set. Jotaro certainly can’t imagine any of them are gaining valuable information from the droning lectures they sit through, or the hours of the day they spend in narrow classrooms whose overbright lighting fails to hide the absence of any natural light from the tiny windows set high in the walls; but at least it’s a span of time to himself, and after almost three years none of his teachers argue over him claiming a seat at the back corner of the classroom and dropping into what entertainment imagination and daydreams can offer to pass the hours.

He walks home instead of taking the transport. The public lines are always overcrowded, packed even with just those students returning from middle or high school courses, and with only a handful of blocks to his family’s home the walk is hardly anything worth complaining over. The sky is a lighter grey than the heavy cloudbank it usually presents, bright enough that Jotaro can almost imagine he’s in sunlight, and his route from school to home remains firmly enough in the better part of town to satisfy even his mother’s needless concerns for the safety of her only son. He makes the whole walk unsolicited by anyone and uninterrupted except by the few irritating classmates who call out or wave from a gaggle of girls ready to scream and wail over so much as a growl of response from him, and when he pulls his ID from his pocket to offer to the electronic lock at the gate in front of his home it’s with a sense of relief that follows the heavy  _ thunk _ of the reinforced steel drawing back from its latch.

The gate is exclusively keyed to his family’s ID cards. It’s an irregularity, Jotaro knows, to have a single family lay claim to an entire corner of a city block, without the towering structure of a skyscraping apartment complex awaiting at the end of his homeward trek. But his father works with the government, as he has for the whole of Jotaro’s life and a half-dozen years before his birth, and if patriotic dedication isn’t enough to merit special treatment competence and leadership ability are evidently sufficient to manage it. Jotaro has never lived anywhere else but in the childhood home that rises three floors in height and claims the unparalleled luxury of open air around all four walls, and what gratitude he feels is constant enough to hardly need repeating to a father who is perpetually absent in exchange for the privacy he has secured for his family’s home.

Jotaro doesn’t mind. That’s another regularity of his life, an aspect he doesn’t question and hardly considers; the years of his youth are long past, and with his life teetering on the cusp of adulthood he’s hardly anxious for a sudden return of parental oversight he neither needs nor wants. It is independence he values now, the freedom to do what he wants where he wishes, and if that happens to keep him within the peace of his family home, it’s still a luxury in which he is happy to indulge.

The house is quiet when he steps through the front door; hardly an unusual occurrence, with so few occupants within, but still notable enough to be a relief to Jotaro’s ears after the roar of people and machinery and vehicles that fill the streets outside. He pauses at the entryway to step free of his shoes as much as to urge the door shut behind himself, and when he speaks to call “I’m home” it’s softly enough that he can hardly expect anyone to hear him.

There is a reply, of course. There is always a reply.

“Jotaro?” The tone is gentle, the voice familiar even around the barrier provided by several corners. Jotaro keeps his head down as he shrugs hard to free himself of the burden of his coat so he can hang it carefully at the hook alongside the door; he doesn’t turn back even at the sound of soft footfalls to announce the approach of the distant speaker. “Welcome home, dear!”

Jotaro grunts by way of answer. It can hardly be taken as encouragement, but then his mother has never waited for encouragement to welcome her son home. She comes down the hallway with both arms upraised, smiling wide enough that Jotaro can see the bright of the expression without even turning his head from where he’s pushing his shoes to the side of the entryway, and when she catches his shoulder with one hand so she can lean against him to rise on her toes and kiss his cheek Jotaro contents himself with grimacing instead of protesting more vocally. Protests never do any good anyway, beyond gaining cheerful agreement in the moment and absolutely no change in the next day’s performance; Jotaro has resigned himself to suffering his mother’s constant displays of affection so long as he still lacks the personal income to claim one of the tiny one-room apartments in the city for his own private space.

“It’s so good to see you,” his mother declares. Jotaro turns away to deliberately return his attention to the effort of straightening his shoes but her hand lingers at his shoulder, as if once claimed she is unwilling to give up the point of contact. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Jotaro says, and turns away to free himself of his mother’s touch so he can move past her and down the hallway towards the main space of the house.

She follows, undaunted by his implicit rejection of her ever-ready affection. “I’ll start dinner soon. Would you like anything in particular?”

“No.”

“Do you have any studying to do?” Jotaro shakes his head. “That’s great! We should see if your grandfather has the evening free, maybe we could go out and see a movie.” Jotaro shrugs and ducks as he steps through the doorway leading to the main living area, outfitted today with a new color scheme during his mother’s morning pass through the house. The table is still right where it always is, with a pair of chairs pushed to sit neatly on either side of it; Jotaro comes forward to draw one out so he can fall into it with a sigh of relief.

“I’ll see what options we have for dinner,” his mother says as she steps past the table and to the cabinets where the dishes are kept. “Are you in a hurry to eat, Jotaro dear?”

Jotaro shakes his head. “You don’t have to cook anything,” he points out as his usual token contribution to his mother’s cooking habit. “I can dial up a meal from my room in five minutes.”

“Those pre-made meals are never enough for a growing boy,” his mother declares. “And they can’t taste as good as homemade food.”

“They don’t take as long either,” Jotaro says. “I’m a grown man, you don’t have to dote on me all the time.”

His mother shakes her head without turning around from where she’s up on her tiptoes to reach the highest cabinet in the kitchen space, an extravagance Jotaro’s father indulged her with to help pass the long hours he spends at work. It’s put to far better use than most of the luxuries in their house, Jotaro supposes. “I can’t think of anything better than the chance to cook a wholesome meal for my only son!” She turns from the cabinet with a bowl in her hands so she can set in on the counter before turning back to the door of the cooling unit built to lie flush with the wall. “A message came for you this afternoon, Jotaro. It’s there on the table.”

Jotaro frowns at the message chip indicated. It’s not the first time he’s seen them -- with his father’s work, he’s had more occasion than most to gain familiarity with the chips that bear official messages from the government to its citizens. He’s only received a handful in his life; most of the minimal communication he receives can be sent directly to the receiver banded around his arm, without need for the formal documentation that comes with a chip, and that means he knows exactly what this particular chip bears just looking at it.

“Those are the results of your aptitude tests, aren’t they?” His mother has turned around from laying out various ingredients across the translucent countertop when Jotaro glances up at her; she has both her hands clasped in front of her chest and her eyes are wide and bright with anticipation. “What do they say?”

“Calm down,” Jotaro growls, and turns back to pick up the chip. “I haven’t even loaded it up yet, how am I supposed to know?” He’s moving as he speaks to fit the chip into his wrist receiver, moving carefully in fitting the delicate electronics into the rarely-used slot at the far side. It’s been years since he made use of the port but it accepts the chip without any difficulty, and the message contained within flashes to a holographic document over Jotaro’s wrist without him needing to provide any input to the band at all.

“Ooh,” his mother chirps from the kitchen. “What does it say? How did you do?”

“Give me a minute,” Jotaro snaps. “I’ve only barely looked at it, let me have a chance to read through it.” His mother subsides, falling back with a cheerful “Okay!” that Jotaro barely hears for his attention to the display illuminated above his wrist.

He starts at the bottom. There are thousands of occupations considered in the general aptitude test, and the half-day test itself is only a portion of the data compiled to make the recommendations that determine the life trajectory of every student who graduates from one of the city’s schools. The results provide only those occupations for which the individual surpasses the basic cutoff, or for specific professions indicated as points of interest on the day of the test itself. Jotaro saw no point in claiming an attachment to a specific profession when he might be summarily barred from such by the results of this test; he’s been waiting for these same results before making the decision for his future, in case his options are limited to only one or two and his choice is all but made for him.

There are more than one or two. Jotaro is surprised by the quantity, as he scrolls up through the lists of occupations; his results on the test were reasonable enough, but it seems the incidental data on his personality and behavior as a member of society spans a wide enough range to make him difficult to categorize. He is qualified to pursue a career in education, if he chooses to, or in bartending, both options that make him grimace and scroll along without even considering the option. He could go into a position in government, following in his father’s footsteps; or into the culinary arts, as his mother’s interests might have directed her if she had chosen a different path for herself. There is even a suggestion that he take up a research position at a coastal laboratory and collect data from the endless depths of the ocean; Jotaro raises his eyebrows at that, surprised in spite of himself, before continuing on through the rest of the list.

“What does it say?” His mother’s voice forces him back to the present; she’s turned back around from the counter again and is gazing at him with her eyes as wide and excited as if it’s the path of her own life glowing over Jotaro’s wrist instead of the possibilities for his own. “Did you pass?”

Jotaro huffs a sigh. “I passed for a lot of things, mom. It’s not like they have you take a bunch of different tests, that would be a waste of time.”

“What did you do best on, then?” His mother is as unfazed as she ever is by Jotaro’s harsh tone; Jotaro doesn’t need to turn his head to know that she’s beaming as much cheer at him now as when he came in the door from school. “What do you like best?”

The second question is far too much for Jotaro to answer yet; he’ll need time and peace to reflect over his results to answer that one, and he’s unlikely to find either in this particular moment. He leaves silence to stand as his reply while he scrolls up through the list he’s been looking at to the topmost result so he can provide the distraction of at least a token response to his mother. The list scrolls for a moment, flickering through the results before him, before it stops, displaying the handful of occupations his score indicated him best-suited for.

“It says--” Jotaro starts, and then stops, grimacing at the text glowing in front of him.

“What?” His mother takes a step forward from the kitchen, her voice dropping into concern at Jotaro’s reaction. “What’s the matter? Do you not like it?”

“It’s not that.” Jotaro sighs and reaches to tap at the hologram to focus on the topmost item. “It says I should join the Public Safety Bureau.” He holds his wrist out for his mother’s consideration as she comes forward from the kitchen to see. “As an Inspector for Criminal Investigations.”

“Oh!” His mother lifts a hand to her mouth as her eyes go wide with surprise. “But...Jotaro, that’s wonderful news!” Her hand drops from her mouth and she reaches to clasp delight at Jotaro’s shoulder instead. “That’s the division your grandfather works for. He’s going to be so proud!”

“I never said I wanted you to tell him,” Jotaro says, but he knows his words are useless even before he’s spoken them. His mother is lifting her own wristband to tap open a communication line without waiting for Jotaro’s response, and it’s hardly rung once before a  _ beep _ indicates the connection forming.

_ “Holly!” _ The voice is rougher over the crackle of the voice connection even than it has been on those few occasions Jotaro has heard it in person, but the volume is just as he remembers, loud and booming enough that he grimaces against the echo he imagines must be bouncing from the walls around them.  _ “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?” _

“Everything’s fine, papa,” Jotaro’s mother says into the microphone at her upraised wrist. “I’m just calling to tell you the good news that Jotaro qualified for the Bureau!”

_ “Ohh!” _ The softening of concern into congratulations does nothing for the overwhelming force of the voice carrying through the connection; if anything Jotaro thinks it might be even more self-assured, with the immediate distraction of needless worry stripped away.  _ “We’ll be having a new recruit to throw to the sharks then, eh?” _ The laugh that follows this crackles with resonance even over the communication line; Jotaro heaves a sigh and lifts a hand to his face as his grandfather continues.  _ “That’s a cause for celebration if ever I heard one!” _

“I thought so too!” Jotaro’s mother says. “When is your next day off, papa? I’ll make dinner for all of us together.”

_ “Of course I can make any time at all for my darling daughter!” _

“Now, papa, that’s what you said last time and you nearly got suspended for leaving a case half-done.”

_ “Worth it!” _ The sound of crackling laughter fills the room once more.  _ “Caesar’s never going to fire me anyway, his whole damn department would fall apart if I weren’t here holding things together.” _

“Is that so?” Jotaro’s mother says in a tone of presumed innocence. “The last time we had him over for dinner he was telling quite a different story, you know, papa.”

Jotaro pulls the message chip free of his wristband and drops it to the table before pushing back. “I’m going to rest,” he declares as his mother looks up at him. “Let me know when dinner’s ready.”

“I will,” his mother says at once. “Congratulations again, Jotaro!”

_ “We’ll have you out to visit soon!” _ his grandfather’s voice insists.  _ “You’ll need to graduate before you become a full trainee but I can tour you around to start putting names to faces anytime!” _

Jotaro sighs and lifts a hand to push through his hair. “Good grief,” he says. “Slow down, old man, I’m not a trainee yet.” But his mother is leaning in over her wristband to speak into the microphone once more, and the rumble of laughter filling the room is too much for Jotaro’s mumbled response to carry past. Jotaro leaves them to their teasing and takes advantage of the moment of distraction to step out of the room and retreat to the luxury of peace afforded by his bedroom and the absence of any audience except himself.


	2. Directed

There is something overwhelming about the Public Safety Bureau. Jotaro isn’t in the habit of being overawed by the day-to-day facts of his life; even the family mansion that so stuns the few acquaintances he has ever invited over for dinner or studying is no more than home to him, more notable for its purpose than in its form. His mother has always wanted the best for him, and his father’s position is more than sufficient to give shape to all her hopes for their son, and Jotaro has always thought the best he can do to pay them back is to appreciate his good fortune and make use of it without arguing the point of whether or not he deserves it. He has become comfortable in taking what he wants when it is offered, and in letting go those things he doesn’t; the shock and awe that he has seen in his classmates’ faces at the sight of his home or the dignity of a popular politician aren’t things in which he has typically indulged.

Even so, even with his intention to step within the heavy doors before him and claim the invitation that came with the results of his competency test, Jotaro has to pause before the Bureau. It’s an enormous building, tall and broad enough to entirely occupy the block on which it is built, and there is a sleek consistency to the facade, with none of the patched-over repairs or late additions that most of the department stores and apartment complexes in the rest of the city offer. The Bureau looks untouched and untouchable, stately and firm as the foundation it is meant to provide to the residents of the city it is sworn to protect, and some measure of that same dignity is carried on the shoulders of the men and women passing through the front door, clad in uniforms that vary in cut and detail but that all have the same crisp composure that the Bureau presents in itself. Jotaro stands before the building for a long moment, gazing at the door as he watches the steady flow of employees move to act out whatever responsibilities they have taken on on behalf of the city; and then his wristband beeps, and when he looks down it’s his grandfather’s name glowing in the space over his sleeve.

Jotaro grimaces, his mouth dipping towards a frown even before he lifts his arm and taps to answer the call. “What is it, old man?”

 _“When are you getting here, Jotaro?”_ The question is softened somewhat from its inherent edge by the rumble of the other man’s voice. Jotaro has seen little enough of his grandfather -- he seems to be as inaccessible as his father has proven -- but he thinks he could recognize the sound of Joseph’s voice just for the tension of near-laughter that always seems to stick beneath it, as if the older man is ready to give way to a spill of amusement at a moment’s notice. _“I was going to take you to the cafeteria for lunch and I’m starving.”_

“I’m outside,” Jotaro says. “I’ll come in now. And I already ate lunch.” He draws the wristband away from his mouth and taps to hang up before he’s subjected to the judgment that will surely follow in the wake of Joseph’s inhale and moves forward to suit actions to words, hunching forward so the dark of his school jacket fits like armor around his shoulders as he comes through the doors.

No one objects to his presence. There is a brief identification process at the entrance, a necessity when Jotaro lacks one of the employee badges the others moving past him bear at the lapels of their coats, but a scan of his ID chip brings up his record in the system of approved visitors and Jotaro is waved through with hastily-given but clear directions on where to go next. He glances around as he moves to obey, but there’s not much he can see around him for the dark walls that block off large sections of the ground floor, and the security scans at the top of the staircases and in front of the suite of elevators are more than enough to crush his idle curiosity.

Jotaro takes the stairs instead of the elevator, moving up the main staircase that has no security of any kind to arrive at the second floor, where another scan gives him access to a suite of offices outfitted with wide windows that let some measure of natural light spill in to illuminate the space inside. There is less rigid order in this area, Jotaro can see at a glance; many of the office doors are open, and there’s the sound of casual conversation and even occasional laughter instead of the focused quiet that filled the public areas of the first floor. Jotaro could guess at his grandfather’s preference for this space with a glance, and when he arrives at his destination there is no shut door to bar him entrance to Joseph’s office.

It’s something of a mess. The architecture of the Bureau is rigidly formal, the interior lobby softened with a slight concession to comfort but still stark enough to call attention to anyone who is left to wander without a clearly visible purpose. Joseph’s office is built on the same lines as the rest of the space, with clean corners to the walls and a window that is more an enormous pane of glass than an excuse for additional aesthetics, but the furniture within it is of an entirely different variety, varying as much from piece to piece as it does from the space around it. The shelving surrounding the desk in the center is built into the walls, but the items on them are stacked haphazardly, from piles of paper that appear to have been dropped or tossed without concern for their organization to framed photographs and knick-knacks pushed into every available space. Every photograph is of a different person or group of people; the only one repeated is Jotaro’s mother, who appears in a photograph as a little girl holding the hand of a woman Jotaro recognizes as his grandmother more from context than actual familiarity, and in another from Jotaro’s graduation from middle school. Jotaro grimaces at that one more for the awkward smile on his own face and the stiff discomfort in his shoulders than for the presence of his mother, and he’s happy to turn away from his consideration of his grandfather’s decorations in favor of the man himself.

Joseph is sitting at the far side of the desk, frowning over a handful of papers spread out in front of him. It’s difficult to tell which papers, exactly, are so holding his attention; the whole surface of his desk is covered in them, and if there was ever any organization to the piles it is long since lost to history. There are a pair of mismatched chairs on the other side of the desk facing him, but one has a rumpled uniform coat thrown over it and the other looks precarious enough that Jotaro doesn’t wish to trust his weight to its support. He stays standing instead, framed just inside the doorway where he entered, and pushes his hands into his pockets as he clears his throat. “Grandpa.”

“Hmm?” Joseph looks up from the papers he’s squinting at, a frown still creasing his forehead. No sooner does he see Jotaro than the tension in his expression eases and he falls back into the support of the chair behind him, casting the papers over the table with disregard for where they fall as he breaks into a beaming smile. “You made it at last!” When he pushes up from his chair he stands of a height with Jotaro, and built along solid enough lines to belie the suggestion of age written into the steel grey of his hair and beard; Jotaro imagines Joseph would be an imposing presence to someone more accustomed to feeling intimidated than Jotaro has ever been. As it is he just remains where he is, meeting his grandfather’s enthusiasm and obligatory hug with stoic patience of his own until Joseph releases him from the grip of his arms and steps back to grin at Jotaro from the distance of the hold he has on his grandson’s shoulders. “So we’re to have another Inspector in the family, eh?”

Jotaro sighs. “I haven’t made my decision yet,” he says, falling into the pattern of the words he has offered what feels like hundreds of times over the last few days since the test results for himself and his classmates were returned. “I’m looking at the different options first.”

“Gathering all the available information,” Joseph says in tones of condescending patience. “Very good, very good.” He claps his hand at Jotaro’s shoulder and tips in to give the other an overblown wink. “That’s _exactly_ the kind of thing we look for in Inspectors, you know!”

“Good grief,” Jotaro sighs, and takes a step back to pull away from his grandfather’s enthusiastic hold. “Stop making decisions about my life for me, old man.”

Joseph meets this criticism with a boom of laughter. “Of course, you want the freedom to choose your own path, I understand entirely! It took me a decade before I was ready to settle down into a career of my own, as your grandmother is all too fond of reminding me. There’s no more hurry for you than there was for me, your mother would be more than happy to keep cooking for you a little while longer.” There’s a rumble of sound and Joseph grimaces and presses his hand to his stomach. “Speaking of cooking. Let’s start your tour with the cafeteria, I can get you up to speed over a good meal!”

Jotaro rolls his eyes. “I told you, I already ate. Is your memory going already, grandpa?”

“You can’t tell me you’re not hungry. I know when I was your age I was ready to eat anything in sight!”

“You still are,” Jotaro says, and steps past his grandfather to pull out the fragile chair on the near side of the desk so he can toss himself into it. The legs tremble as if uncertain of themselves for a moment, but they steady as Jotaro plants his feet on the floor and slouches to lower himself farther into the support. “Go and eat if you want to. I’ll wait.”

“You could come with me,” Joseph wheedles. “Even if you really don’t want anything to eat you would at least have the chance to meet some of the Enforcers!”

“I just want the basic tour,” Jotaro says as he presses his shoulders to the support of the chair behind him and ducks his head forward to let his features fall into shadow. “Like I got everywhere else. No special introductions or prepared speeches.”

“My speeches are never prepared!” Joseph protests. “I’ll have you know I’m absolutely genuine with everyone, what you see is what you get.”

Jotaro groans. “I thought you were hungry?”

“Fine,” Joseph says, and steps towards the door. Jotaro listens to his footfalls rather than bothering with turning to see him move. “I’ll have a delicious meal to myself and you can be bored here. Don’t come complaining to me when you wish you had taken me up on my generous offer.” Jotaro lifts a hand to wave Joseph on and Joseph huffs from behind him.

“You’ll have to stay here,” he says. “Any unsupervised wandering is strictly prohibited, even for family members. If you leave the room you’ll just be brought right back, so don’t get any ideas about snooping.”

“I won’t,” Jotaro says. “Think I’ll nap instead.” And he tips his head to rest against the chair behind him and shuts his eyes with full intention to do exactly that. Behind him Joseph sighs heavily and grumbles something about the youth of today, but he doesn’t offer more protest other than to take somewhat longer than is necessary in shutting the door. Jotaro doesn’t take advantage of the chance to change his mind, however, and with the sound of the latch settling into place comes a chance for peace and quiet of his own, at least until Joseph’s return.

He does think about napping. It’s been a stressful morning and the hour that has passed since he ate is leaving his body warm and relaxed with the pleasant ease of a full stomach and the early afternoon; the idea of staying where he is and drifting into sleep is more than a little tempting. But the chair still feels rickety whenever Jotaro shifts against it, and it’s hard to get his head comfortable at the support behind him, and the idea of being jolted awake by Joseph’s raucous laugh is far from Jotaro’s idea of a pleasant afternoon. It’s only a few minutes before he opens his eyes and pushes to sit up at the edge of the chair so he can find something more interesting with which to occupy himself.

There’s plenty to offer distraction. The mess of the shelves draws the eye, and the trinkets and photographs are enough, Jotaro thinks, to urge curiosity even if they don’t offer answers to the questions they beg. But the desk is right in front of him, covered with paperwork Joseph deemed inconsequential enough to leave in open view, and Jotaro’s interest is caught by this proof of an Inspector’s actual work, rather than the movie-plot drama of chasing villains down and pulling them off the streets. There are all kinds of papers before him, scattered into far less organization than what must be offered by electronic data, but Jotaro’s attention is drawn to the far side of the table, where the folder Joseph was reading from upon his arrival remains open atop the heap of documents arrayed in front of the heavy chair at the far side. There is a sheaf of papers within, forms filled out with bureaucratic distance, and scattered over the top are several photographs, saturated with more shadows than form. Jotaro frowns at them from the other side of the table, squinting as he tries to make sense of them, before reaching out to claim the topmost and draw it towards himself.

The photograph lacks detail. It’s hazy, dark as if taken through fog or in the deepest hours of the night, until Jotaro thinks it’s only the golden shade of the subject’s hair that makes it possible to pick their form out from the background shadows at all. Their body is arched strangely, curving into a line that would be sinuous if it weren’t formed of such distinct musculature; even after Jotaro has followed the wild halo of golden hair to what have to be bare shoulders and the shadow of a spine it’s hard to contextualize the whole, to see the shape within as a human and not some kind of sculpture formed of darkness and uncertainty. Jotaro turns the photograph over, checking the back for some kind of label, but there’s nothing on the other side to give any kind of explanation for the dangerous grace of the figure within.

“That’s him.”

Jotaro turns to glance back to the door, which Joseph opened too softly for him to hear. The older man is holding a plate heaping high with an eclectic collection of side dishes and a fork hovering in the air over it; he takes a bite as Jotaro looks at him, chewing and swallowing as he comes forward into the room and lets the door swing back into place behind him.

“Who?” Jotaro asks.

“Dio.” Joseph gestures with his fork as he pushes the chair covered by his Inspector uniform back with his foot and drops into the support. “I’ve been on his trail for years, now. I almost had him pinned down a couple years back before he slipped away from me again.”

Jotaro frowns. “What did he do?”

Joseph snorts without looking up from the focused attention he’s turning to his meal. “What _hasn’t_ he done?” he asks rhetorically. “He started out with physical assault. We got reports of a young man getting into fistfights, sometimes with cause and sometimes without, but there were never any records of him on any of the police scanners around town and no indication of anyone with elevated Coefficients, other than the people he was fighting with. He moved on from there to murder and rape, each time dabbling with a few cases before dropping off the grid completely and vanishing for a span of months, like he was trying to convince us he had vanished or been taken out. But he always comes back, no matter how sure we are that he’s finally bolted from the city. He’s like a ghost that refuses to die, determined to haunt all my cases.”

“That sounds paranoid,” Jotaro informs his grandfather. “How would he even know you’re after him?”

“He picks victims from other cases I’m working on,” Joseph answers at once, as if just waiting for Jotaro to ask. “He almost killed the last field partner I was working with, he had to drop out of the Bureau and undergo recalibrative therapy to bring his Coefficient back down after just one conversation with this guy. I wondered if he wasn’t just picking on other criminals, shadowing their own crimes with his own, but the other Inspectors hardly know he exists.” Joseph shakes his head and spears another bite of food on his fork. “He knows I’m looking for him and he’s taunting me with my inability to track him down.”

“Shouldn’t he show up on the scanners?” Jotaro asks. “He might be able to throw off one old man but he can’t dodge every major intersection in the city.”

Joseph tightens his jaw on a scowl. “Very funny, you young upstart. Why don’t you join the Bureau like your test said you should and we’ll see how well _you_ do tracking him down?” The question is clearly rhetorical even before he waves a hand to gesture to the photograph still in Jotaro’s hand. “He’s asymptomatic. We thought for a while that maybe he was just influencing other people to act on his behalf, serving as a corrupting influence while keeping his own hands clean, but I’ve seen him kill a man without his Crime Coefficient so much as wavering. He has no sense of morality at all.”

“Or he’s convinced himself that he’s justified,” Jotaro says, and looks back to the picture. It’s too dark to see the details clearly but he imagines he can see a smile curving at the mouth barely visible past the shadow of the figure’s shoulders. “Either one would do it.”

Joseph shrugs. “I’m going to bring him down regardless,” he says, and stabs his fork into another bite of food before he looks up to flash a grin he probably believes to be persuasive at Jotaro. “I could always take on another new recruit to work the case with me too. We could make it a family thing, let this guy know he’s not getting away with this so long as he has Joestars after him.”

Jotaro rolls his eyes. “I’m a Kujo,” he says, and tosses the photograph back into the open folder before he pushes to his feet to stand in front of his grandfather. “I thought you were going to show me around, or is this just an excuse to have a captive audience while you ramble about old adventures?”

Joseph frowns at him. “I’m not _rambling_ ,” he insists, and takes a bite of the food off his plate that seems to bear nearly half the meal with it. “This is just laying the groundwork. It’s important to have a framework for the information you collect, you’ll learn that soon enough.” Another bite halves what of his food remains and he stands from his chair with a grace startling to see with the silver in his hair and the lines creasing into his face. “If you bring half as much skill as the game you talk, you’re going to be the star recruit of the Bureau.”

“I didn’t say I was joining,” Jotaro says as Joseph finishes the last of his meal in one impressive mouthful. He turns away from the table and towards the door without waiting for his grandfather to set his plate down. “Come on and show me around like you said you would.”

“You’re nothing but demanding,” Joseph grumbles as he leaves his plate at his desk and reaches for his wrinkled uniform coat to pull it back on over his shoulders. “Maybe I ought to ask Caesar to assign you to a different lead until you’ve learned some respect for your elders.” He steps past Jotaro to push open the door and stride out into the hallway without waiting for Jotaro to follow in his wake. “I’ll give you that tour, if you’re in such a hurry.”

Jotaro moves to follow Joseph through the doorway and out into the murmur of voices filling the hallway. Joseph is walking fast, putting his full height to use in the length of his stride even as he calls greetings to those coworkers he passes, but the hallway is straight and Jotaro has no fears about keeping up with a man two generations older than he is. He pauses to pull the door shut behind him as he leaves, and in glancing back from the doorway his gaze catches at the dark of the photograph dropped onto the desk. From this distance he can see nothing of the details, can’t even identify the background for the shadowy haze filling the frame; but he can see the shape of the figure within, the elegant curve of the back and shoulders leading up to that shadowed face and half-seen smile. Jotaro looks at it for a moment, feeling irrationally that the photograph is staring at him in return, that the taunting curve of its lips is intended as mockery of his own ability; and then there’s a shout, “Are you coming, Jotaro?” and he turns away to pull the door shut behind him so he can follow his grandfather out into the rest of the Bureau.


	3. Determination

“He’s going to do _great_ ,” Joseph declares, this statement one he has repeated several times over the course of the night and now uses as punctuation for the cup of tea he has just drained. “I couldn’t be prouder to have my grandson carrying on the noble tradition of public service!”

“Good grief,” Jotaro groans from the couch in the living room, where he retreated as soon as the conclusion of the expansive dinner his mother produced freed him from the immediate pressure of his grandfather’s conversation. “It’s not a tradition, grandpa, you’re the only family member who’s ever worked as an Inspector.”

“Well of course I am,” Joseph says. “I hardly expected your mother to follow in my footsteps and wouldn’t have wanted her to. The streets can be a dangerous place, where we need to go. I’d never get any sleep knowing my darling daughter might be out in the midst of that!” He beams across the table at Jotaro’s mother as she draws his cup towards her so she can pour a refill into the heavy, expensive ceramic. “Besides, Caesar joined up with me, and he’s as good as family.” Jotaro rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue the point, and Joseph seems to take his silent resistance as the surrender it’s not. “And now we have you, as soon as you’re clear of training!”

“It isn’t too terribly dangerous, is it?” That’s from Jotaro’s mother, just setting down the teapot at the edge of the table before drawing back the empty chair so she can sit across from her father. “Jotaro isn’t going to be fighting criminals his first week out, will he? I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Jotaro groans. “ _Mom_ ,” he says, lifting an arm to push his hand over his face to hide the flush of embarrassment starting to form across his cheeks. “I’m _supposed_ to be tracking down criminals. It’s part of the job.”

“Not right away, no!” Joseph cuts in. “Don’t worry, Holly, he’s going to get plenty of training and equipment he can use to defend himself if he needs to. And he won’t need to! Me and my team will take good care of him, we know what we’re doing and we can keep our eye on one new recruit.”

“I do worry,” Jotaro’s mother sighs. “I know you know what you’re doing, papa, you’ve been doing this for a long time and nothing ever happened to you. But Jotaro’s brand-new, he won’t have any idea what he’s doing at first. What if he hurts himself in these trainings?”

“Good grief,” Jotaro sighs. “I’ll be _fine_. I can take care of myself. When are you going to realize your son’s a grown man?”

“He’ll do just fine,” Joseph soothes. “I’ll be right there with him on the first field mission he goes on so he can get some hands-on experience and see how I handle things. We’ll get him some exposure to the job and I’ll personally deliver him back here in time for dinner.”

“I can get myself home,” Jotaro complains. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Well you’re going to get one anyway,” Joseph informs him. “Everyone does on their first few missions. We don’t have enough Inspectors to go around throwing you into takedowns all by yourself to start with, and with just the one Enforcer working with me I’ll have half my time to keep you under control.”

“Great,” Jotaro sighs. “This sounds _much_ more exciting than going to classes.”

“Don’t be like that,” Joseph admonishes. “You won’t have a chance to take any naps on the job with my team, that’s for sure. We’ve got our hands full dealing with the mess this Dio guy is leaving behind him, much less actually going after him directly. We won’t be able to make any real headway in pinning him down until we have a bigger team, and you’re the first step in that.”

“Dio?” Jotaro’s mother repeats. “You’ve mentioned him before, haven’t you papa? Is he very dangerous?”

Joseph’s tone softens at once. “You don’t need to worry about him, Holly,” he says. When Jotaro glances sideways his grandfather is leaning in over the table to press a reassuring hand to his daughter’s sleeve. “He’s a slippery one but Jotaro and I are going to take care of him and make the city a safer place for good-hearted people like you.” He turns to look back to Jotaro as his mouth sets on a frown. “You need to keep your focus on the end result, Jotaro. We’re doing this to improve the city and protect your mother from harm!”

Jotaro rolls his eyes and slumps back to lie across the couch. “Do I at least get a Dominator of my own?”

“That you do,” Joseph says in tones of deep satisfaction. “We’re not going to let you out on a mission without a way to defend yourself. You’ll get your own Dominator issued to you when you go out on your first training mission.”

“At least there’s that,” Jotaro says, speaking softly enough that Joseph can at least pretend to not have heard the deadpan on his words. Joseph turns back to Holly, leaning in over the table to continue reassuring her as to Jotaro’s perfect safety in the course of this training mission, that it will be a simple undertaking with no possible danger, that the weapon is only for reasons of protocol, that she can consider him as safe as if he were taking the bus to the classes Jotaro left firmly behind him with his enrollment at the Bureau. To hear him tell it Jotaro will be no more than a tourist on the mission, there to gape appreciatively as Joseph and his assigned Enforcer take down one of the minor criminals threatening the general safety of the city with speed and grace.

Jotaro doesn’t listen to the details of Joseph’s description. It’s certainly exaggeration in some or all parts, and not likely to be of much use to him in preparing for whatever assignment does end up serving as his first mission. He lets himself relax over the couch instead, drifting free of the present moment with the sound of his grandfather’s voice to lull him into an idle daydream of the crisp of his uniform coat, and the weight of the Dominator in his hands, and the power to guide his own path forward in life firmly in his grip.


	4. Variable

“Hold it out in front of you,” Joseph instructs. “Wrap both hands around the handle, it needs to get a match on your identity.”

“I know how to deal with a scanner,” Jotaro grumbles, but he does as his grandfather says, bracing one hand tightly atop the other around the weight of the Dominator in his hands. It’s heavier than he expected it to be, as if it’s full of far more metal framework than the electrical components Jotaro half-expected, and though he’s certainly strong enough to lift it to eye level before him his uncertainty with holding a weapon for the first time in his life is enough to keep the end of the device lowered to point at nothing but the fog-damp pavement beneath their feet. Jotaro angles the Dominator down slightly farther so the flicker of light reaching for identification can scan over the steady force of his gaze, and after a moment of humming calculation the screen flickers into the image from his brand-new ID card before pulling up his name alongside the picture.

 _“Inspector Kujo Jotaro recognized,”_ a husky female voice declares from the Dominator in Jotaro’s hold. _“Dominator access granted.”_ The Dominator shifts in Jotaro’s grip, the front unlatching to open to a narrow portal to let the laser of the scanner free to play across whatever Jotaro directs it towards.

“Well done,” Joseph says, and claps a heavy hand at Jotaro’s shoulder. “You’ve won the approval of our favorite lady!”

Jotaro grimaces. “Can’t you change the voice settings?” he asks, but Joseph is turning away to move back by a handful of strides and doesn’t bother answering.

“Alright,” Joseph says, and turns to face Jotaro across the span of distance he’s just put between them. “Make sure your finger’s off the trigger. Now bring the Dominator up to scan me.”

Jotaro frowns but doesn’t offer protest. He looks down instead, confirming that his grip is still well clear of the trigger for the weapon, before lifting it with careful intention. The blue light spilling from the end of the weapon plays across his grandfather’s form, illuminating him to a brief, washed-out pallor; and then the opening at the end latches itself shut again, locking into place with a force that doesn’t upset the balance of the gun but that Jotaro can still feel down the support of his outstretched arms.

 _“Inspector Joseph Joestar identified,”_ the cool feminine voice says. _“Functionality disabled.”_

“It’ll do that with any other Inspector,” Joseph says as he lifts his hands from his sides to push into his pockets. “You could squeeze the trigger all day and it won’t do a damn thing to me, or to anyone else with a healthy Coefficient.” He jerks his head to the side. “Now point it at Avdol.”

“Please keep your finger off the trigger, Inspector Kujo.” The voice is deeper than Joseph’s rumble; Jotaro looks to the speaker, a broad-shouldered man with dark skin and darker hair cut short over the top of his head and pulled into a narrow ponytail at the back of his neck. He’s wearing a uniform to match Joseph’s and Jotaro’s, although the styling is different enough that Jotaro can pick out the details even if he still has to think through the process of recognizing an Enforcer’s uniform instead of an Inspector’s. “I would like to be able to be of some use to yourself and Inspector Joestar this evening.” The speech is delivered with a smile and the sound of a laugh warm beneath it; Jotaro doesn’t need to see Avdol’s eyes to know that those will be bright as well, carrying the same held-back amusement that he seems to feel with regards to everything about the life he leads.

Jotaro lifts the Dominator with even more care, this time. The end of the weapon unlatches as the beam slides away from Joseph and comes around towards Avdol, and when Jotaro brings it up to scan across the other man there is no locking down, none of the red illumination that greeted him in pointing the Dominator at his grandfather. The weapon hums for a split-second as it processes the identification; and then, as another ID photo flickers onto the screen above Jotaro’s hold:

 _"Mohammed Avdol,”_ the voice declares. _“Enforcer for Public Safety Bureau. Coefficient of 124. Paralyzer Mode.”_ The Dominator shifts slightly, changing shape in Jotaro’s grip as it recalibrates itself into a new function. _“Fire at will.”_

“You have the freedom to take out anyone with a sufficiently high Coefficient,” Joseph says as Jotaro lowers the Dominator again so it can settle back into its passive state. “That includes Enforcers who are working with you as well.”

“That’s why we’re sent out with Inspectors,” Avdol puts in as he finishes setting up the far corner of the police perimeter. “We’re helpful tools but there’s a possibility of any of us going rogue. The Dominators are as much to let Inspectors keep control over us as to take out the criminals we are sent to apprehend.”

“You make yourself sound like a rabid dog,” Joseph complains. “Your Coefficient’s been point-steady for years, Avdol, you don’t need to scare the boy on his first day.”

“I’m simply doing my part to express the responsibility of his position to him,” Avdol says, with the nearest thing to stern sincerity Jotaro has ever heard in the other man’s voice; an undertaking almost immediately undermined by the spill of a laugh which follows it. “Though as far as my intentions go I have no plans to stage a revolt this evening. If all goes according to plan you should have no cause to use that Dominator on anyone, Inspector Kujo.”

“That’s right,” Joseph says. “You’re here to watch more than anything else. That thing is just a safety precaution in case things go to hell.” He pauses and shrugs. “Which they tend to do, after all.”

“Fine,” Jotaro says, and brings the Dominator around so he can holster it at the back of the belt looped tight around his waist. “I can handle it.”

“Ahh,” Avdol says. “That’s the spirit. Your grandson has the makings of a fine Inspector, Inspector Joestar.”

“I always knew he would,” Joseph says with as much pride in his voice as if he personally charted Jotaro’s life path to bring him to this point. “Even when he was a kid, I would tell Holly--”

“Are we going to get going?” Jotaro asks, speaking sharply enough to cut off his grandfather’s rambling before it can gain the traction of nostalgia behind it. “I can take them on myself if you want to stay here chatting, old man.”

“You’re going to do nothing of the sort,” Joseph tells him, giving over his story to frown at Jotaro with a sternness that Jotaro meets with stolid attention. “You’re going to follow Avdol and I and stay out of harm’s way, understand? No rushing in for grand heroics or trying to save the day. This is a training mission, nothing else.”

Jotaro rolls his eyes. “I got it.”

“Keep down,” Joseph continues, stepping forward so he can shake a finger at Jotaro to give his point greater weight. “If we get separated -- which we won’t -- you’re going to take cover and wait for Avdol or I to track you down.”

Jotaro reaches up to push his grandfather’s hand out of his face. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

“We are,” Avdol agrees, although in a somewhat gentler tone than the one Jotaro used. “Inspector Joestar?”

Joseph gives Jotaro one last glare for good measure before turning on his heel. “Fine,” he says, and strides forward so he can duck under the police line Avdol set up around the building they are meant to be entering. “Let’s take this guy out already, we don’t have all night.” Avdol follows without protesting this patent misrepresentation and Jotaro follows, contenting himself with a sigh before falling into position at the back of their small group. They move past the police line, stepping forward through the holographic tape that flickers and gives way in acknowledgment of the Bureau IDs all three of them carry, and Joseph leads the way towards the unlocked door of the building towards which they are bound.

It is startlingly dark inside. Jotaro knows what time it is; he’s been tracking the shadows of night falling around them for the last hour as they traveled here from the Bureau and arranged themselves into what passes for a plan by Joseph’s logic. Even out on the main streets the night is heavy, made darker by the fog that has chosen tonight to haze the illumination of the streetlamps to a dull orange flicker; but it’s darker still within the walls of the building, and with none of the electric lights that could grant some clarity to the discarded furniture around them. Jotaro blinks hard, willing his eyes to adjust as rapidly as they can, but he still has to move carefully just to keep from tripping over the objects on the floor. He can’t imagine how they’ll track down the target they were sent here to collect, much less gain the element of surprise on the individual who showed up on the police scanners late this afternoon.

Avdol clears his throat from the shadows ahead of Jotaro. When Jotaro looks up he can hardly see the Enforcer’s outline, and his grandfather is entirely lost to the darkness of the hallway ahead of them.

“Use your Dominator,” Avdol suggests, his voice seeming to come out of the darkness around them for how rich and resonant it sounds. “It will outline the inanimate objects around you while scanning for any potential threats.”

Jotaro reaches for the weapon holstered behind him and brings it up. The voice starts up again as he scans his identification into the machine but he hardly hears the announcement for the attention he’s paying to the screen, where the shapes in the room are outlined in a pale blue net that gives him a far better sense of the space around him than his unaidedeyes could do.

“Better?” Avdol says. Jotaro grunts in response and Avdol chuckles. “Leave it to Inspector Joestar to tell you half of what it does and leave off the immediate use.” He turns and lifts his arm in an arc to gesture Jotaro onward. “Follow me.”

Jotaro does. It’s easier to navigate the floor with his Dominator to guide his path, even if his focus on the display in front of him leaves him feeling strangely exposed in every other direction; he keeps pausing to bring the scanner up and around, sweeping over the shadows around him to check for the approach of another living person. He keeps thinking he hears footsteps, or the creaking of flooring squeaking under a heavy heel, but there’s nothing, no matter how often he pauses before hurrying on to catch up. Avdol and Joseph continue moving without speaking, with a grace to their joined movement that speaks to long years of experience; Jotaro is left struggling, feeling as clumsy in his movements as he hasn’t since the last growth spurt at the start of high school that added six inches to his height and ruined the shoulder seams of all the shirts he owned.

It’s very quiet around them. The building is empty, echoing with silence in a way Jotaro has never known even in the expanse of his family’s home; he thinks this might be the first time in his life he’s been in a truly unoccupied space, stripped of even what comforts may be found in the sound of distant cooking or a television program playing on the other side of a wall. Every footstep seems to reflect around them, the sound splashing back as if the waves are made of water instead of air, until Jotaro feels as if they might as well be shouting for how clearly their movement may be tracked. He grimaces with each footfall, rocking up onto the balls of his feet in a futile attempt to soften the sound of his tread as he strains his ears to catch any giveaway sound that might speak to the target they are meant to apprehend.

He doesn’t need to, as it turns out. Jotaro is reaching for a mismatched footstep, the sound of an unsteady floor creaking beneath the weight of another human; when the explosion comes it is so startling he almost yells, only kept to silence by the knot of adrenaline that closes tight as a vice around his throat. There’s a roar of sound, a flare of light that glows brilliant white before retreating, and Jotaro is left blinking such spots from his eyes that it takes him a moment to realize there is still light flickering in a distant room, a sickly green color different from any flame he’s ever seen before.

“He’s started a fire,” Avdol says, sounding shocked.

“ _Shit_ ,” Joseph spits. “It’s going to take out the whole side of the building if we let it burn.” He gestures with his arm, swinging wide enough that Jotaro can track the motion even with his vision marred with the sunspots of the first incandescent explosion. “Avdol, come with me. Jotaro, you stay back.”

“What?” Jotaro blurts. “I’m supposed to be training, how does staying back help that?”

“I don’t like the look of that fire,” Joseph says. “It’s got to be chemical-based to turn that color, and we don’t know what breathing that will do to you. You stay back, guard our backs and call for help if you need it.” He lifts his arm to tap against his wristband. “No heroics, got it?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he’s moving forward, striding down the hallway now illuminated a strange, flickering green with no apparent hesitation at taking himself right into the midst of a declared dangerous area. Avdol follows on his heels, moving quickly enough that he has managed to interpose himself between Joseph and the door to the burning room before the other has reached for the handle. They have a brief conversation, too low for Jotaro to understand beyond Joseph’s upraised hands and Avdol’s short, sharp head-jerk of negation; then Avdol is reaching for the door, and pulling it open, and he and Joseph both step forward to vanish into the blinding illumination of vivid emerald green spilling light into the hallway.

Jotaro is left alone in the hall, ducking his head and squinting hard against the bright of the light aching against his dark-adjusted eyes. The illumination is doing his vision no favors; he thinks it would hardly be a generous source of light in even the best of circumstances, considering the strange hue and flickering bright of what must be flames, although Jotaro can’t see the details of them. He’s left where he was told to stay, Dominator in hand and eyes watering from the burning smoke hanging in the air; and then there’s a voice, “You must be the trainee,” delivered in a tone dripping with mockery, and Jotaro pivots hard on his heel as he swings his Dominator up to lock onto the source of the unfamiliar voice. A shadow shifts, the outline of a sinuous figure ducking through a doorway and out of sight, and Jotaro can feel his whole chest fix tight on the pressure of sudden, surging adrenaline. He keeps his Dominator up, keeps the glitter of the scanning light pinned to the doorway, but when he steps forward his eyes are on the shadows instead of the screen, seeking desperately for the giveaway of the movement he saw in the moment before the other vanished into the shadows of the open room.

Jotaro moves slowly. He’s already lost the element of surprise for himself, if he ever had it; he’s beginning to wonder, now, how much their target actually knows, if this really is the simple criminal case it appeared to be. But his opponent has given up their advantage as well, whether with cause or just out of an insatiable desire for mockery, and Jotaro has no intention of granting them any further aid by a misstep of his own. He keeps his eyes open, keeps his attention in front of him without glancing back at the flames crackling to cast his figure to a shadow across the dust lying thick on the floor, and when he comes to the doorway of the room he stops, framed in the entrance while he takes stock of the situation.

His target is making no effort to hide. Jotaro isn’t sure if that’s a sign of confidence or stupidity; it doesn’t make a difference to him in the moment, anyway. His focus is all for the tableau before him, the situation cast into silhouette by the glow of distant streetlights bleeding up to form a backdrop for the shadowy figures before it. There are two of them, the outlines of their bodies overlapping into a single shadowy image that Jotaro has to squint at to make out. The one behind is taller, broad-shouldered and marked by wavy hair of such a vivid red that Jotaro can see suggestions of the color even in the minimal lighting offered by the lights at the street. Their arm is angled around the neck of the person before them, whose white coat fits closely enough to show the curve of breast and hip that mark her as a woman some inches shorter than the person standing behind her. She’s tipped far back, her weight angled against the chest of the other; the surrender of her position makes their relative positions as hostage and target certain, even with no more for Jotaro to go on than the single glimpse of the present situation.

“Kujo Jotaro, right?” It’s the target speaking, their voice purring from the shadows as if it’s verging on the edge of a laugh. “What a pleasure to meet you. I’m Kakyoin Noriaki.”

Jotaro scowls. “How do you know my name?”

Kakyoin laughs, all the amusement of the sound turned inward to make mockery instead of invitation of the sound. “Do you think the Bureau has a monopoly on information gathering? There are more ways than scanners to get information, especially from our leader.”

Jotaro’s chin comes down, his grip tightens on the Dominator in his hands. “You’re working with Dio.”

Kakyoin angles his head to the side in the sketch of a graceful nod. “That’s right.”

“He’s a criminal,” Jotaro says. “That makes you one too.”

“So your System says,” Kakyoin purrs. “That Dominator in your hands is certainly ready enough to pass judgment on me.” Jotaro feels the weapon shift under his grip, realigning its pieces into a different structure than what came before. His gaze drops down to the screen, where he can see the result of the pale blue light flickering across the paired figures on the far side of the room.

“The System makes decisions on behalf of society.” Kakyoin shifts his weight back, tipping himself slightly to the side as if moving towards the open space of the smashed-out window behind him. The target in his grip stumbles backwards as well, dragged to movement by the hold he’s maintaining around her neck. “You Inspectors are no better than tools to enforce those decisions on the population. You’re never expected to make real choices when you come out to take someone down.” His weight shifts, his body curving to fit behind the barrier of the woman he’s holding in front of himself. “Especially trainees like you.”

“Let her go,” Jotaro says, looking up from the screen of his Dominator to glare at Kakyoin in front of him. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Maybe she didn’t at first,” Kakyoin says. “But that’s not your decision to make anymore, Inspector. Why don’t you see what your beloved System says about her now?”

Jotaro glances back to the screen of the Dominator. The scan is still working, playing across the two before him as it tries to secure a reading on Kakyoin blocked by the hostage he’s holding in front of himself; the weight of the Dominator keeps shifting, starting to latch itself into a different configuration before Kakyoin moves again and interposes the woman between himself and the weapon. But even with the light playing across the hostage, the woman made no more than a pawn in the present situation:

 _“Paralyzer mode,”_ the Dominator announces in that clear, unflinching tone. _“Coefficient 178.”_

“And climbing,” Kakyoin says in answer to the automated voice from the Dominator. “She’s as much a criminal as I am, by your System’s definition.” He backs up another step, moving closer to the empty window frame behind him without looking to see how close he’s drawing. “She hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s nothing but a victim of bad luck. Are you going to judge her a criminal the same way the Sibyl System has?”

Jotaro grimaces. “I only see one criminal here,” he says. “And that’s the person who would involve an innocent woman in his plot.”

“Well said,” Kakyoin teases. “How very chivalrous of you. So what will you do, when you can’t shoot me without firing on her?”

“That’s easy,” Jotaro says, and he pulls the Dominator around to point directly at the woman locked in Kakyoin’s hold. Her eyes open wide as the Dominator speaks, declaring its verdict with calm control, but Jotaro is squeezing the trigger even before the System has time to recite back her Coefficient again, and the woman’s expression goes blank with shock as the bolt of electricity hits her. Her body goes rigid, every muscle in her limbs locking tight with far more force than Jotaro expected them to, but Jotaro isn’t waiting to see the effect of the first shot he fired from his Dominator; he’s running forward, advancing on Kakyoin while the other is still struggling with the abrupt change in the balance of the hostage he’s holding. Jotaro keeps the Dominator up, keeps the scanner trained on Kakyoin, and as he surges forward he hears the voice again: _”Coefficient 314. Lethal Eliminator mode.”_ The weapon unfolds from its original orientation, thudding heavily as it blossoms into a larger structure to accommodate a heavier bolt, and Jotaro hisses frustration as he comes closer. He had intended to Paralyze them both and bring them in to the Bureau to be handled there; but the change in the Dominator mode strips him of the possibility even as he rushes forward to act on it. Kakyoin looks up at Jotaro, his eyes wide with shock even as his hold on the woman he used as a shield gives way to drop her to the floor, and Jotaro loosens his grip on the Dominator to grab around the open end of it instead.

“We’ll get her help,” he says as his foot lands close to Kakyoin’s, as his shoulders rise up to loom over the other staring shock at him. Kakyoin’s gaze fixes on Jotaro’s face, his eyes so wide with surprise that Jotaro can’t pull his attention away, can’t look aside even as he raises the weapon braced the wrong-way around in his hands. “And you’ll get what you deserve too.” And he brings the Dominator down, swinging hard to crack the heavy weight of the handle solidly against the side of Kakyoin’s skull. Kakyoin’s eyes blow wide, his expression falls slack, and when he slumps to the ground he does so with all the grace of a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing to a boneless heap at Jotaro’s feet. Jotaro stands over him for a moment, heart racing and breath rasping as he gazes down at the illumination from outside playing across Kakyoin’s features, revealing the face of a man far younger than violence made him seem. Jotaro considers the line of Kakyoin’s shoulders, the pattern of the school uniform now given form by the dim orange light spilling through the window; and then he lifts his Dominator back to his grip, and raises the weapon to direct at Kakyoin once again.

 _“Coefficient 275,”_ the voice declares. _"Coefficient 213. Coefficient 198. Coefficient 182.”_ The Dominator shifts, altering its form to compress back to its earlier construction. _“Paralyzer mode.”_ Jotaro squeezes the trigger, coupling Kakyoin’s unconsciousness with enforced immobility; and then he turns back to face the doorway and lean against the wall to wait for his grandfather and Avdol’s return.


	5. Perspective

The Bureau has a unique approach to medical treatment. There is a need for more of it than what ordinary citizens deal with, of course; whatever reassurances Joseph offered his daughter, Jotaro is well aware he has chosen to pursue a dangerous line of work, and knew that even before the events of the night prior. Inspectors get hurt frequently, Enforcers more so, and if the former are rarely a psychological danger Jotaro already has a sense of the way Enforcers are treated, as mostly-domesticated wolves that still might try to break free of their leash at a moment’s notice. There are the victims to be thought of as well, people like the woman Jotaro Paralyzed and brought back whose Coefficients have jumped far above a healthy range due to the trauma they have gone through; and, sometimes, even the perpetrators of said violence, who must be restrained for the safety of those around them even as they are treated.

Kakyoin is in one of the high-security areas of the Bureau. He is receiving as much treatment as anyone else would, as far as Jotaro can tell, but his arms and legs are strapped down to the bed on which he is lying even as doctors examine the lump at the side of his head where Jotaro slammed the weight of the Dominator against him to knock him out. The space he is in is plain white, with no furnishings or decorations beyond those immediately necessary to provide care, and one side of the space is formed of mirrored glass. From within all Kakyoin can see will be his own reflection, the white of the thin hospital gown around his shoulders and the brilliant crimson of his hair; the same details Jotaro can see from the dim shadows on the other side of the glass.

“I thought I’d find you here.” The voice is loud enough that Jotaro grimaces for the force of it even before he casts his gaze sideways to see his grandfather standing at the end of the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing his full Inspector uniform, possibly in an attempt to bring to bear the full force of his position within the Bureau; Jotaro barely spares him a glance before he looks away again, but the sound of Joseph’s footsteps thudding against the smooth-polished floor give away his approach well before he draws up to stand alongside Jotaro at the mirror into Kakyoin’s room. They stand in silence for a long moment before Joseph draws a breath to speak.

“He owes you his life.” Jotaro doesn’t turn his head to meet his grandfather’s gaze but he can feel the force of the other man’s attention on him, gauging his expression for some sign of whatever reaction it is he is seeking from his grandson. “No one would have faulted you for firing on him.”

“His Coefficient was too high,” Jotaro says without looking away from the glass or lifting his hands from his pockets. Kakyoin is lying still in his bed, head resting against the pillow beneath him and eyes open to fix on the blank white of the ceiling overhead. His wrists are relaxed in the restraints, his legs as unresisting. Jotaro hasn’t seen him struggle against them once, no matter how many times he visits or how long he watches. “The Dominator went into Eliminator mode.”

“The System determined him to be too much of a danger to society,” Joseph says. “If you didn’t fire on him someone else would have. He wouldn’t have lived more than a few days anyway.”

“He’s not dead yet,” Jotaro says with more force on the words than he intends. “Whatever Dio did to him is done with. His Coefficient dropped.”

“Not enough,” Joseph reminds him. “He’s still well outside the standard range. And he can’t be trusted back in society, not with a max Coefficient over 300 on record.”

“It’s not that high now,” Jotaro says, aware he’s being stubborn but unwilling to give way to the gentle condescension in his grandfather’s voice. “It hasn’t moved in a day and a half. If it’s stabilized again then he still has options.”

Out of the corner of his eye Jotaro can see Joseph shrug. “We’ll see,” he says, although he still sounds unconvinced. “You staying here isn’t going to do anything, though.”

“I know that,” Jotaro says. He goes on looking at Kakyoin through the glass of the mirror for a long moment. There’s nothing at all to do in the room, nothing to look at or to hold the attention of the man held within, but there’s a clarity to his gaze, Jotaro can see even from the distance he’s at, a vivid color to his eyes in stark contrast to the night-shadowed darkness that was all Jotaro could see during their fight. He doesn’t look trapped or frantic, as Jotaro might expect; he looks simply present, as if he handed over mania for unflinching patience of whatever may come for him next. Jotaro watches him unseen, gazing at the man whose life he saved through the illumination of a one-way mirror; and then he looks away, turning his back on his grandfather alongside him as he ducks his head forward and speaks to the floor underfoot. “I’m not sorry.”

“For not firing?” Joseph asks, sounding startled even at the idea. “No, I wouldn’t expect you to be. Regardless of what happens to this young man from here, you’ve given him a second chance that he wouldn’t have had otherwise.” He shifts to take a step forward; a hand presses heavy to Jotaro’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Jotaro. You’re exactly the kind of man this Bureau needs working for it.”

Jotaro can feel his cheeks go hot with the burn of a flush in answer to his grandfather’s words, but all he says is “Good grief,” speaking roughly as he pushes a hand through his hair to distract himself away from his self-consciousness. “If you’re going this soft you ought to hurry up and retire already, old man.” He moves forward as quickly as he speaks, ducking away from the weight of the touch against his sleeve without looking back towards his grandfather behind him; but his gaze slides to the glass as he steps past it, seeking out another glimpse of red hair tangling to waves against stark white sheets. Jotaro’s gaze holds to Kakyoin as long as he is moving past the mirror; then the glass meets the corner of the enclosed room, and Jotaro pushes the door open to leave, even if his thoughts are still lingering in the space he has left behind.


	6. Reciprocity

Jotaro spends a lot of time at the office.

It’s not his office, officially. Technically it is intended for the use of everyone in his squad, which even at present gives him claim to at most a third of it. But Joseph has a dedicated office of his own in consideration of his senior position at the Bureau, and he’s rarely there either, preferring instead to wander the halls or chat in the cafeteria or linger in the office of the Bureau head, a man named Caesar who he claims as a close friend in spite of the bickering and often open arguments that Jotaro sees them engage in. Avdol has the freedom to visit the shared office space as well, as an official Enforcer with a clear enough record to make up for the dangers presented by his slightly elevated Crime Coefficient, but he seems to prefer the peace of the personal quarters the Bureau provides for him as one of its Enforcers, and when he is in the office he’s so quiet that Jotaro hardly notices his presence. The space is all but guaranteed peace, and often solitude as well, and as the first few days of awkward uncertainty settle into the comfort of routine Jotaro finds himself arriving earlier and lingering later, until he feels as comfortable in his work space as he might in his bedroom at home.

There is always something to do. Field missions are rare, Jotaro rapidly finds, only arising as possible leads or related crimes for the cases on which his squad is working occur, and often the problems are minor enough that Avdol and Joseph will handle them alone and leave Jotaro to go through the seemingly endless quantity of data that Joseph has collected in the last several years of trying to chase down his most frustrating target.

Jotaro hadn’t cared particularly about Dio originally; he was no more than a name, if one his grandfather growled over with as much weight as a curse whenever the subject arose. But the shadowy picture in the folder he saw on his first visit sticks in his memory and chills a shudder down his spine whenever he recalls it, and he finds his imagination running wild until Dio seems more a demon than a man, as if he might be the personification of all the unmeasured evil lurking in the city. Since his field mission Jotaro’s mind has drifted in that direction still more often, wondering how many others in the city might be falling under Dio’s influence to have their lives derailed as thoroughly as Kakyoin Noriaki did, and as his interest climbs his work hours grow, until some nights he stays at the office and sleeps on the couch in the back room that is too short for the length of his legs just so he can get back to the puzzle of tracking Dio down as soon as he has claimed sufficient rest for himself to continue.

He’s lost track of how long he’s been working, today. It’s easy to lose himself in the endless array of data that layers together into a web that perhaps someday will prove sufficient to cinch tight around the seemingly unstoppable form of Dio himself; Jotaro ate breakfast over his desk, and if hours have passed since then it’s not enough for him to feel the pangs of hunger keenly enough to remind him to track down his next meal for the day. Avdol is absent, as he often is in the earlier part of the work day, and Jotaro isn’t looking to see his grandfather until the afternoon, if at all. He’s slouched back in his chair, frowning at his computer screen as he skims the handful of files open in front of him and pieces together fragments of possibility from the disparate details of seemingly unrelated cases, and then the office door flies open hard enough to hit the wall alongside it, and Jotaro is grimacing at his loss of focus even before his grandfather’s voice echoes into the relatively small space of the office around them.

“Good morning everyone, it’s another beautiful day at the Criminal Investigations Division. Who’s ready to track down some criminals and solve some cases?” Jotaro looks up over the top of his computer monitor to frown hard at the intrusion but Joseph doesn’t spare him more than a glance as he looks around the room, squinting as if he’s likely to have missed someone in his initial consideration of the space. “Where’s Avdol?”

“He’s not in yet,” Jotaro says.

“So it’s just you and me?” Joseph says, sounding disappointed. Jotaro thinks about pointing out that the size of their particular squad is hardly enough to make a grand showing in any case, but Joseph isn’t waiting for a response from him. “I guess we’ll have to make do with what we have.” He turns back to the open doorway behind him and lifts a hand. “Come on in and we’ll do introductions!”

The statement alone is enough to straighten Jotaro’s position in his chair in expectation of the arrival of some newcomer to the Bureau. He can feel his expression hardening in turn, although he hardly intends to seem unwelcoming; the knot of uncomfortable self-consciousness that tightens in his chest is too much for him to easily unravel, even after a handful of weeks of being introduced to whoever Joseph happens to walk past in the hallway while he’s looking for someone new for Jotaro to meet. Jotaro can’t get used to the endless parade of strangers, can’t manage to recall more than a handful of the names for utterly unfamiliar faces that Joseph seems to know personally, and he’s not looking forward to meeting another unknown whose name he may be expected to recall in the future. His jaw is set tight on discomfort, tensing towards the start of a scowl even before he’s seen the newcomer; and then Joseph’s companion steps forward and into sight, and Jotaro’s self-consciousness gives way to surprise at the completely unexpected familiarity of the person now stepping to the door.

“Kakyoin,” he blurts, the name spilling from his lips before he can close his mouth around whatever other unstudied reaction impulse might try to offer.

Kakyoin looks past Joseph still standing to the side of the doorway to meet Jotaro’s stare from across the width of the room. He’s dressed differently than Jotaro has seen him before, the hospital gown and school uniform replaced with the dark of a Bureau coat, the same color as Joseph’s and Jotaro’s but cut along the lines of an Enforcer rather than an Inspector. It’s strange to see him in this space that has become such a familiar part of Jotaro’s life, as if he’s stepped forward over the distance between them to join Jotaro in a reality where he never seemed to exist properly before. His mouth curves up at one corner onto a smile and he ducks his head into a nod that brings the long curl of red hair at one side of his face swinging forward under its own weight.

“I see you remember me,” he says. His voice is smoother than it was when Jotaro heard it last, more fluid and gentler without the rasp of threat it carried originally. His expression is lighter too, with some measure of illumination to bring out shades of purple in his eyes as he lifts his gaze to meet Jotaro’s again. “I must thank you for what you did for me. You risked your life in not firing at me and saved mine. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

Jotaro’s jaw tightens, embarrassment flushes hot under his skin. He turns his head to look away from the focus of Kakyoin’s eyes on him, fixing his attention on Avdol’s empty desk at the far side of the room while he coughs to clear his throat of the knot of self-consciousness that has tightened in his chest. “I didn’t do it so you would owe me,” he says, the words coming out so rough around the tension in his throat that they sounds nearly a growl. “I hardly know why I did it at all.”

“Jotaro,” Joseph chastises. “That’s no way to be friendly. I know you’ve been keeping this office all to yourself but you must have known that wasn’t going to last forever. I’ve been telling Caesar we can’t get this work done with just three people, I’m not about to have him take back the first new Enforcer we’ve gotten in months.”

“Please, Inspector Joestar, there’s no problem at all.” That’s Kakyoin again, speaking fast to cut in over the growing heat in Joseph’s voice. “It’s a sudden change, I completely understand. I’m happy to make my transition to the team as smooth as possible, I see nothing to complain about at all.” Jotaro can see Kakyoin shift in his periphery as the other turns to face him and ducks into a bow. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Inspector Kujo.”

It’s the words more than the bow that get Jotaro’s attention, and the jolt of realization hitting him that brings him turning back around to frown at Kakyoin from across the room. “You’re joining the team?” Kakyoin straightens from his bow to meet Jotaro’s gaze but Jotaro doesn’t wait for the obvious answer to be spoken aloud. “Why would you become an Enforcer? Why join this team in particular?”

Kakyoin’s mouth twitches upwards towards another flickering smile. “There aren’t a great deal of options available to those with triple-digit Coefficients,” he says, his voice as smooth as if he’s discussing the weather instead of a preemptive judgment rendered on him by the System that controls every aspect of the society in which they live. “As for requesting to work with this team…” His shoulder comes up, his head tips to the side to match the shrug he offers. “I hardly know why I did it myself.” Jotaro blinks, startled by this near-echo of his own words, and Kakyoin looks at him through the shadow of his lashes and flickers one of those barely-there smiles at him.

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Joseph cuts in, interrupting before Jotaro can figure out how to respond to Kakyoin’s apparent teasing, before he has even managed to retrieve words for himself from the shimmer of heat that runs through him to blank out his thoughts and glow dull fire under his cheeks. “Haven’t you ever heard not to look a gift horse in the mouth? We need a bigger team if we’re ever going to track Dio to ground, and now we have not only additional backup but a source of personal information on who Dio is and how he operates. I couldn’t hope for anything better.” He lifts a hand to clap against Kakyoin’s shoulder with his usual hearty cheer. “It’s wonderful to have you here with us, Kakyoin, whatever my sullen grandson says.”

“Thank you,” Kakyoin says, as polite and polished as anyone Jotaro has ever seen. “I’m sure we’ll do fine once we get to know each other. I’m looking forward to working with yourself and Inspector Kujo, as well.”

“Jojo.” Jotaro is surprised by the sound of his own voice, loud and clear enough to draw both Kakyoin and Joseph’s attention around to him. Joseph’s eyes are wide with surprise but it’s Kakyoin’s steady gaze that seizes Jotaro’s attention and holds to it even as Jotaro swallows in an attempt to clear his throat. Finally he has to duck his head and push to his feet to break free, and when he speaks his voice still holds to a roughness he can’t strip from it even with his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. “Call me Jojo.” He lifts his head to fix his gaze out the door past his grandfather’s shoulders. “Is that all you needed, old man? I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Sure,” Joseph says, and steps to the side to make space as Jotaro comes out from behind his desk and heads for the hallway. “We’ll come with you, if you wait a few minutes so I can get Kakyoin settled.”

“Too busy,” Jotaro says shortly. “I’ll see you later.” He ducks through the doorway, his gaze fixed firmly on the hallway beyond, but when Kakyoin draws aside the movement pulls his attention involuntarily to the other’s face. Their eyes meet for a moment as Jotaro steps past; then Jotaro is moving out into the hallway, turning his back on Kakyoin to hide the flush on his face that rises in answer to the tension of laughter he glimpsed at the curve of the other’s lips.


	7. Improvised

Jotaro takes Kakyoin with him the next time Joseph finds a lead for their case.

Ordinarily Joseph would be the lead Inspector for any case that comes through. Jotaro is still a trainee, even if he now has hands-on experience in dealing with those determined to be criminal by the Sibyl System, and none of the Enforcers are allowed to pursue cases alone without an Inspector there to keep track of them. But Joseph is suffering a cold, enough to make him intolerably miserable if not to keep him home from the office, and Jotaro is happy to take the opportunity to get some distance from his grandfather’s bad mood as much as the risk of possible contagion. Avdol has been working with Joseph for years enough that he has nearly as much insight to offer on the subject under investigation as the Inspector himself, which makes him an invaluable resource as well as the most patient member of their team; and Jotaro suspects Joseph is anxious to field-test Kakyoin’s abilities as well as the stability of his mental state. Kakyoin’s Coefficient held steady for a week before he was released from the medical department and has hardly flickered in the days that have followed, but there is no way to be sure without hands-on testing, and until that has been achieved Kakyoin is little more than dead weight. Jotaro sees the importance of getting Kakyoin experience, sooner rather than later, and so when Joseph announces the task at hand he doesn’t so much as blink at the plan his grandfather lays out.

They don’t have much to work with. The target has made a habit of dodging the street scanners outright, never being caught in an image as anything more than a hunch-shouldered figure or the shift of a coat sleeve vanishing from frame as quickly as it appears. It’s the result of their crimes that is so memorable, in the form of victims left to bleed out after their tongues are ripped from their mouths. It’s Joseph who reviewed the photographs captured as evidence and refused to let Jotaro see them, but Jotaro can imagine with clarity enough to make his grandfather’s concern for his innocence all but needless. It’s motivation enough to stop their target tonight, before they can take any more lives with their particularly grisly form of murder, and it’s that that holds Jotaro’s attention as he takes the lead down the street with Kakyoin pacing through the shadows behind him.

 _"Keep your eyes open.”_ The voice is from the communicator in Jotaro’s wristband, a hiss of sound crackling with electronic static as well as the congestion that has muffled Joseph’s speech for the last two days. _“We have no idea what this guy looks like, anyone you go past should be a possible target to you.”_

 _"It doesn’t have to be a man either.”_ That’s Avdol, in a calmer and clearer tone than Joseph’s cold allows for. _“Keep your guard up around women as well.”_

Joseph’s snort is clear even over the crackle of the communicator. _“I keep telling you, I’m sure it’s not a woman. No woman would indulge in this sort of brutality, no matter how corrupted her Coefficient.”_

 _"Mm,”_ Avdol hums. _“I don’t suppose you recall that woman we went after a few months back, the one who worked with the contagious poison she got on you because you came in to offer reassurance even though I told you her Coefficient was higher than it ought to have been?”_

 _"I remember perfectly well,”_ Joseph growls. _“My memory is exactly what it should be, thank you very much. And I took her to be a hostage, which would have deserved a little more care than what_ you _wanted to provide. Not all of us are as immune to the appeals of the fairer sex as you are, Avdol.”_

 _"Of course,”_ Avdol says. _“You are a constant reminder to me of that.”_

“Do you actually have anything important to say, old man?” Jotaro cuts in, speaking over the rapid degeneration of the conversation happening back at the Department office.

 _"Yes,”_ Joseph says immediately. _“Keep your communicators on. We’ll turn off our end but if we get some new piece of information we may need to get in touch with you both right away. Is Kakyoin still there with you?”_

“I am,” Kakyoin says, answering for himself without waiting for Jotaro. Jotaro glances over his shoulder at the other but Kakyoin has his gaze cast down towards the line of the band wrapped around his wrist instead of watching the partner he was sent out with. He looks perfectly calm, as if they might as well be out for a stroll through the city rather than on their way to apprehend a vicious criminal. “We’ll stay together, Inspector Joestar.”

 _"See that you do.”_ There’s a murmur of sound on the other end of the communicator too soft for Jotaro to hear the details beyond the low rumble of Avdol’s voice before Joseph speaks again. _“You’re coming right up on the dead zone of the street scanners. It might get a little rough, keep your Dominators on and your attention up.”_

“I know,” Jotaro says. “Anything else?”

 _"Stay alert,”_ Joseph admonishes. _“We’ll keep listening in even once you’re past the last of the scanners. Good luck.”_ And the communicator clicks off, leaving behind an absence of sound so abrupt Jotaro feels like his ears are ringing with it. He drops his hand to his side and reaches behind himself to check the fit of the weapon seated over his hip; behind him there’s a intake of breath to speak to Kakyoin’s presence even before the other speaks.

“I should take the lead,” he says, speaking softly enough that his voice seems to fit into the shadows of their surroundings, as if he might be more at home in the darkness of the unscanned city than in the crisp light of the Bureau itself. “If we’re attacked it’ll be better for me to take the brunt of it rather than you.” He cuts his gaze sideways towards Jotaro next to him and flickers a smile that pulls tension across the shape of his lips. “And that way you can keep an eye on my Coefficient in case it jumps as well.” Jotaro snorts in the back of his throat by way of answer to this but there’s no correction from the communicator at his wrist, and when Kakyoin steps forward to take the lead Jotaro lets him go. It’s not as if he’s unarmed, after all, and from behind him Jotaro can better keep an eye on the shadows of the street down which they are bound. Kakyoin strides forward, falling into a graceful motion that belies any self-consciousness or concern he may be feeling, and Jotaro is left behind him to ease his Dominator free of the holster at his belt and lift it to hold ready at his side, even if he doesn’t raise it to sweep over their surroundings.

There is almost perfect silence in this part of the city. The few dark areas that escape the regular sweep of the street scanners are avoided, for the most part, as absent of even passers-by as if they didn’t exist at all. Adding additional scans would open up the shadows of these streets, make them accessible for the general population that fills all the rest of the city to bursting, but there is a benefit to leaving some shadows to draw the criminals, those whose Coefficients run too high to pass a perfunctory streetside scan and who wish to seek out those pursuits that call the focus of justice down upon them. Far easier to visit a few shadowy blocks than to try to track a single elusive individual through the crowds of the city; Jotaro can see the logic of that, even if the necessity of allowing some measure of crime hunches his shoulders with discomfort. At least he’s doing his part to bring an end to this particular variety of violence, hopefully within the span of the next few hours.

The sound of Jotaro and Kakyoin’s footsteps echoes off the steep heights of the buildings around them, reverberating off the glassy windows and steel construction to follow them like a beacon. Jotaro feels they must be drawing the attention of everyone in earshot, however softly they walk; there is so little movement and such minimal sound that even the huff of their breathing seems as if it must be a complete giveaway of their presence. But then they are meant to be drawing out the criminal, perhaps even by playing possible victims in themselves; and it is then that there is a shout, high and desperate with panic, and Jotaro jerks his Dominator up to aim into the shadows of the street before them at the same time Kakyoin draws to an abrupt halt in the middle of the path. There’s no need to ask for confirmation; the sound was too clear, too immediately audible for any mistake. Jotaro stares into the shadows ahead of them, seeking out any sign of movement against the still darkness of the street, and then a figure lurches into view, stumbling wildly as they round a corner.

“Help me!” The voice is shrill, high and pained on desperation; the speaker stumbles forward, struggling to gain their footing as they crane their head to look back over their shoulder. It’s an old man, frail and hunched under the weight of the years bearing down on him; when he turns back to see Kakyoin and Jotaro before him his eyes are wide with terror enough to match the edge on his voice and the tremor in his hands. “Inspectors, please, you have to help me, there’s a madman in there!”

“I’m not an Inspector,” Kakyoin says as he steps forward, both his hands held out towards the old man looking back over his shoulder again as if afraid of what might be chasing after him from the shadows. “But we are with the Public Safety Bureau. We’re looking for a criminal, did you see someone?”

The man nods desperately, his head moving so rapidly it looks in some danger of coming right off his neck. His hands are shaking as he steps forward and reaches out to lay claim to the support of Kakyoin’s outstretched arms. “The Public Safety Bureau, yes, yes, that’s exactly what we need here, that’s what’s good enough for the likes of him!” That last is delivered over his shoulder, spitting towards the shadows with more fire than the bone-deep terror that seemed to have so gripped the man initially. “You’re good young men, keeping the city safe from filthy criminals like that.”

“We do what we can,” Kakyoin says, with enough amusement on his voice that Jotaro’s attention pulls to his expression instead of the angle of his shoulders. He’s still holding the old man up, offering the support of both arms on behalf of the other’s shaking legs; from the way he’s bracing himself there must be real force in the grip of the spidery fingers that have latched around his forearms to lock his elbows in place. “Can you tell us what you saw? Did you get a good look at the criminal’s face?”

The old man nods enthusiastically. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be but I know what he looks like, I can give a description good enough for any of you.”

There’s a _beep_ from Jotaro’s hand. For a moment he thinks it’s his communicator responding with some pressing information from Joseph or Avdol; it’s only when he looks down that he sees the blue light of the Dominator still held in his grip, and the Coefficient displayed across it. He stares at the screen for a heartbeat, just to make sense of what he’s seeing; and then he’s speaking, shouting “ _Kakyoin!_ ” in a voice loud enough to carry clearly over the sound of the Dominator shifting into a new alignment in his hold.

 _"Coefficient 312,”_ the bland feminine voice declares. _“Lethal Eliminator mode”_ but Jotaro isn’t listening to the verdict as he brings the weapon up to aim at the old man clutching at Kakyoin’s arms. The man’s head turns, his attention shifting with stunning speed, and then he moves, jerking to pull Kakyoin off his feet and sideways to interpose the other between himself and the Dominator. The weapon shifts again, adjusting back to Paralyzer mode as it recites Kakyoin’s name and position within the Bureau, but Jotaro isn’t paying attention. He’s watching the old man move, one of his hands coming up with that same startling, vicious speed, and then Kakyoin makes a sharp sound of pain and Jotaro’s shoulders tense even before he sees the spray of blood splash sideways from the motion of the man’s hand. Kakyoin twists aside, falling to the pavement as if all the strength has abandoned his body, and the man is darting around him, moving faster than Jotaro would have believed possible for the seeming pain in the movement that went before. He’s closing the distance while Jotaro is still hissing concern for Kakyoin, lunging forward over the gap between himself and Jotaro, and Jotaro is lifting the Dominator to train on him but there’s a flare of heat against his wrist, the sharp bite of pain lancing across his tendons, and his grip goes slack in spite of himself. The Dominator topples out of his grasp, falling to clatter uselessly on the pavement beneath them, and when the old man steps forward it’s to kick sideways and send the weight of the metal skidding uselessly away.

“Fancy little toys they give you at the Bureau,” he cackles, his voice skipping to the same pitch that he put on for his show of fear, now granted a vicious edge of pleasure it lacked before. “Not much better than a paperweight if you can’t hold onto them, though.” His eyes are bright as he lunges close, surging into Jotaro’s personal space even as the other stumbles backwards in a reflexive effort to remove himself from the other’s range. “Blades are just so much more _reliable_.” His hand comes up, the drawn knife in his grip glinting in the skimming light of the streetlamps; Jotaro reaches up to grab at his forearm and stall the downward blow, but his balance is off-center and the old man is far stronger than he appears to be. His arm flexes in Jotaro’s hold, cording with sudden strength, and Jotaro grunts and reaches up to brace the man’s arm with his injured hand as well. The additional strength stalls the motion, locking him to stasis; but the man just grins, and Jotaro sees his mistake as the other’s wrist flicks to toss the open blade from his captured hand to the other. He catches the hilt of the weapon, swinging his arm forward with the same motion to drive it towards Jotaro’s stomach; but his upraised arm shifts, swelling with startling speed in Jotaro’s grip to throw off his balance. The man’s head turns, his gaze narrowing as his forearm expands, growing enormous and bloated under Jotaro’s fingers, but it’s not just his arm: his whole body is expanding, bubbling as if he’s boiling from the inside out, as if all his blood has abruptly turned to steam. Jotaro drops his hold, pulling back by a step from the grotesque sculpture the criminal has become just before the whole gives way, disintegrating into component pieces in a splash of crimson that seems to hang in the air for a moment before splattering across the pavement. Jotaro is left staring, eyes wide and stomach churning, before the sound of a sigh pulls his attention past the gruesome mist that has just become of the target.

“I’m glad I got the shot off,” Kakyoin says, slurring a little over the words before he turns his head to spit a mouthful of blood to the pavement. He’s still lying across the ground, only pushed up towards sitting by the brace of his elbow at the pavement beneath him, but the Dominator in his hand is rock-steady, even as his mouth drips the wet red of the injury he took from the criminal’s knife. “He was a lot faster with that thing than I expected.”

“Kakyoin,” Jotaro says, startled out of any kind of coherency; and then, as Kakyoin lifts his free hand to his mouth to wipe at the blood staining his lips scarlet, “Are you okay?” Jotaro strides forward, too concerned with crossing the distance to flinch over what his boots must be squelching in, and by the time his communicator crackles with a _“Jotaro? What’s happening?”_ he’s dropping to a knee and reaching for Kakyoin’s bloodstreaked chin to turn the other’s face up to what dim lighting there is.

“I’m fine,” Kakyoin manages, turning to the side to spit again. “I dodged the worst of it.” He opens his mouth to show his tongue by way of demonstration; there’s a gash diagonally across the width of it, deep enough to still be oozing blood, but Kakyoin doesn’t appear particularly phased as he closes his mouth again to block the sight. “It’ll heal fast enough, there’s nothing to worry about.”

 _“Jotaro!”_ That’s too shrill for Jotaro to ignore, however much the blood against Kakyoin’s mouth may hold his attention; he grimaces and lifts his wristband up to fix his focus to it in place of useless concern. _“What is_ happening _? Are you hurt?”_

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jotaro snaps into the communicator. “Kakyoin got hurt but he’ll be alright. We’re coming back to the Bureau now.”

 _“What about the target?”_ That’s Avdol, sounding significantly calmer than the frantic edge Joseph adopted; there’s a comfort just to hearing his tone, even as Jotaro reaches out to offer the support of his uninjured arm to brace Kakyoin as he pulls the other up towards upright.

“Dealt with,” Jotaro says shortly. “We’ll tell you when we get back.” And he shuts his communicator off entirely to spare himself the distraction from the process of getting Kakyoin to his feet and collecting his fallen weapon before moving back down the street in the direction they came from.

Kakyoin keeps his hand pressed over his mouth so the pale of his fingers can hide the worst of the blood across his face, and his hold at Jotaro’s arm is more polite than bracing by the time they make it to the main street, but Jotaro doesn’t pull away or look aside until he’s handed the other off to the far greater skill provided by the medical team awaiting their arrival.


	8. Protective

It’s a week before Joseph lets their department return to the field. Kakyoin’s injuries are relatively minor, requiring no more than a few days of rest and limited speech to heal the gash he took across his tongue, but Jotaro’s arm needs significantly more work, and when he’s released from the infirmary it’s with strict orders to lift nothing heavier than a pen with his bandaged arm until his body’s healing has taken the place of the artificial joins made across the cut. Jotaro has every intention of obeying this on his own -- doctors should be listened to, they certainly know better than he does what he should do -- but Joseph makes the decision to call Holly while Jotaro is too occupied with the doctors to stop him. That brings Jotaro’s mother into the Bureau, too hysterical with worry to be held back by even the most forceful guards at the front door, and it’s only when Joseph has given her a firm promise that Jotaro will remain in the office until he is fully healed that she can be persuaded to leave. Jotaro half-expects Joseph to go back on this as soon as Holly has left the building -- his grandfather seems more the type to rely on his own judgment than anyone else’s -- but Joseph is too afraid of another accident, or maybe just most interested in keeping his only daughter happy, and so they remain in the office for the next span of days.

It’s not a terrible experience. Joseph still wanders the rest of the Bureau, too restless to stay still in one place even with the evidence of his fading cold still in effect, and Jotaro finds Kakyoin to be as reserved as his fellow Enforcer. The office often falls to companionable silence, with no more than the soft sound of their touchpads shifting or fingers against keyboards to fill the quiet, and Jotaro finds himself almost anxious to get in to work just for the focus he is able to find in such an environment. Avdol sometimes retreats to the cafeteria and returns with cups of tea for everyone in the office, and after Kakyoin’s injury is healed he’ll sometimes speak up to comment on some particularly interesting piece of data he’s found. For his part Jotaro speaks almost not at all, and never to initiate conversation with either of the other two, but he appreciates it all the same, until he begins to feel as if he’s as much a part of the department as his grandfather has made himself.

Jotaro doesn’t mind the office work, and Kakyoin and Avdol seem just as content as he with lingering within the confines of the Bureau; but Joseph grows increasingly restless, his temper visibly fraying as the days pass without an excuse for them to venture out into the bustle of the city without. For a time he asks Jotaro about the progress of his healing multiple times a day; when Jotaro finally snaps at him to bother the doctors instead of the patient he does exactly that, vanishing to the infirmary for long spans of time. For all Joseph’s impatience there is nothing waiting on them; even once Jotaro’s bandages are removed and he is granted permission to ease back into greater use of his hand it’s another two days before Joseph arrives in the doorway of the office to announce another field expedition, and that one that shows all the signs of an invention rather than a necessity.

They’re not going out after a suspected criminal. Joseph claims that they are gathering information, that the four of them will be going undercover to collect any additional information Kakyoin’s foggy memories of his time working with Dio can provide, but their ostensible leader spends longer fiddling with the changes of clothes programmed for them to wear than Jotaro can explain in any way other than childlike excitement at playing dress-up. Jotaro and Kakyoin spent almost no time at all in selecting their outfits; Kakyoin dials up a standard high school uniform, indistinguishable from the one at Jotaro’s old school except for the color of the fabric, and when he suggests that Jotaro pass for a student as well Jotaro nods without any protest. Avdol dresses himself with no need for discussion, in a long red coat that hangs past his knees and opens over the loose tan pants and patterned shirt he’s wearing beneath, and a half-hour later he finally talks Joseph into a pair of khakis and a shirt the pale pink color of fading neon. Jotaro offers no input on this choice, and Joseph doesn’t wait for a response when he asks rhetorically how he looks before he sweeps them all up to sign out the pair of Enforcers before they make their way into the heart of the city.

Jotaro has never been to the part of the city to which Kakyoin leads them. It is Kakyoin who has the guiding of their path, thanks to Joseph’s transparent excuse for what they are attempting to achieve with this particular outing, and Jotaro follows silently in the others’ wake, feeling his half-healed wrist throbbing dully under the dark sleeve of the coat that covers the line of artificial skin pressed over the inside of his wrist. Joseph is exuberant, exclaiming over everything they pass as if he is intimately familiar with every city block, but it’s Kakyoin’s voice that Jotaro listens to as their small group proceeds through the crowd on the sidewalk.

“That’s the restaurant I used to stop at after school or on lunch break, sometimes, when I was released from class early.” Kakyoin lifts a hand to gesture towards an unmarked door a short distance down an alley running between two towering buildings of glass and steel that glitter in the illumination of the midday sunlight. “They serve incredible ramen and most people don’t know about them, so the wait’s not too bad.”

Jotaro follows the line of Kakyoin’s arm to consider the doorway. It looks unremarkable, with nothing to distinguish it as the entrance to a restaurant rather than an office or warehouse; when he glances back at Kakyoin he finds the other watching him, his eyes holding to Jotaro’s face and the corner of his mouth curving up towards the sketch of a smile.

“It’s not as convenient as ordering from the processor at home,” Kakyoin admits, letting his hand fall to slide back into the pocket of his coat as he turns to look back down the street before them. “But it’s quiet, usually, and the food is good enough to make it worth the trip. You don’t even have to look at the menu, you can just walk in and ask for the regular.” His gaze slides sideways again to meet Jotaro’s held attention. “It’s worth the trip, I promise.”

“Of course it is,” Joseph says, speaking loudly enough that both Kakyoin and Jotaro look back to him. He’s in the lead of their group, striding down the sidewalk with as much self-assurance as if he’s the one to guide where they are bound; he’s only barely glancing over his shoulder at Avdol behind him and Kakyoin and Jotaro a little farther back. “It’s always more of an adventure to go out into the city for a meal. Even if the food is terrible, you never know what kind of people you’re going to meet!”

Jotaro huffs his breath into a sigh. “Hey, Kakyoin,” he says, speaking softly enough that his grandfather won’t hear him over the murmur of the crowd. Kakyoin turns to look back to him; Jotaro meets his gaze for a moment before he looks back away to the dark-paved sidewalk stretching before them. “Isn’t it a pain when old men think they can lecture you just because they have more experience?” Kakyoin doesn’t give an answer aloud -- Jotaro didn’t really expect him to, with Joseph as his assigned supervisor -- but he snorts a faint laugh, and when Jotaro risks a glance up at him the other is smiling, his gaze lingering on Jotaro’s face. Jotaro feels his cheeks warm, heat rising to the surface to make an attempt at darkening his skin to the giveaway color of a flush, but before he can pull himself into stoic distance again there’s a shout from the crowd, loud enough that it pulls the attention of several strangers around them as well as all four of their own group.

“Excuse me!” The voice is piercingly nasal, sharp enough to effortlessly hear over the dull hum of sound that always fills a city stuffed with too many bodies and too many voices, but the man speaking stands out just as clearly from the mass of people around him. He’s tall on his feet, taller than Kakyoin and edging towards Jotaro and Joseph’s own unusual height, and his silvered hair is styled straight up to add further inches to this. His clothes are no more unusual than what Jotaro has seen around the fringes of the neon-glazed sections of town, though the time of day makes the form-fitting pleather of his shirt stand out from the greater array of school uniforms and business suits filling the crowd, but the bright of his grin doesn’t allow for any of the self-consciousness Jotaro might feel in his place. His arm is upraised into a wave; as their group pauses to look in his direction he lets his hand fall so he can gesture them in closer.

“You there. Yeah, the four of you, with the pair of students.” That leaves no room for doubt even if he weren’t looking right at them; the stranger tips his head to the side to gesture them in towards him and away from the main flow of the crowd. “Could I get just a second of your time?”

“I am sorry,” Avdol says in the deep rumble of his voice. “We are not interested in signing anything.”

“No handouts either,” Joseph puts in. “Or buying anything.”

The man rocks back on his heels. “Huh?” He looks more confused than insulted, but it’s only for a moment before he shakes his head and collects himself back into focus. “I’m not trying to complete a petition or anything. I just heard you mentioning the restaurants around here and I was hoping you might be able to direct me. I’m a tourist from a neighboring city and I don’t quite have my bearings yet. My GPS keeps telling me to go north but I’ve gotten all turned around, I can’t even find the street I’m supposed to be on.”

“Ahh,” Joseph says with relief, and steps forward in answer the other’s gesture. “A visitor, hm? The city can be a bit overwhelming when you first arrive, for sure. I myself was pickpocketed within hours when I first got here.” He breaks into a hearty laugh as they draw nearer to the stranger. “Made a lifelong friend from it too. You’ll love the city in no time, mark my words!”

The stranger laughs with as much overbright enthusiasm as what Joseph offered him. “Oh yes, I’m sure I will, it’s a beautiful place so far! All I need to know is how to get to a restaurant, I’m supposed to meet a friend there. I believe it’s meant to be down this street but I can’t figure out where to turn.”

“Of course, of course.” Joseph comes forward to follow the stranger’s gesture, with Avdol following behind him; Jotaro and Kakyoin are left to bring up the rear as all five of them move towards the shadows of a cross-street instead of the overcrowded span of the main street’s walkway. “Right around here? There are a lot of great places to eat in this area of town, your friend chose well. I might even know him, with how many acquaintances I have in the city.” Jotaro rolls his eyes at this proclamation but Joseph is beaming at the stranger and doesn’t see his grandson’s judgment. “What’s his name?”

“Actually I think you might know him.” The stranger’s voice retains its nasal strain but some of the cheerful brightness has faded; the shift is enough to pull Jotaro’s attention to the span of the other’s shoulders, all he can see from their present position. “He definitely knows you, Mr. Joestar. Oh, I’m sorry” with a laugh that has nothing of real cheer on it at all. “That should be Inspector Joestar, shouldn’t it?”

Jotaro doesn’t need to speak to tell Joseph to stop moving. His grandfather has come to a dead halt in the middle of the side street along with the rest of them; Jotaro can see his shoulders tensing under his shirt and his hands tightening towards fists at his side. The stranger goes on walking another span of steps before he seems to realize they aren’t following him and turns back to look them all over. His smile is still pulling at the shape of his mouth but there’s very little laughter left in his eyes now, and what there is carries more of a mocking edge than a friendly one.

Avdol steps forward. “Please move back, Inspector Joestar.”

The stranger lifts his hand to point at Avdol. “I’ve heard about you,” he says. “You used to be an Inspector too, before you had a run-in of your own with my friend. Does the Bureau keep you on a leash now that the System has decided you’re not good enough to be allowed your own freedom?”

“I am an Enforcer now,” Avdol says without any indication that his usual calm composure has been at all ruffled by the stranger’s taunts. “Enforcer Mohammed Avdol is all you need to know of me.”

“Ah, yes, introductions, I apologize.” The stranger draws a foot back and sweeps himself into a bow suited for a stage performance. “Jean-Pierre Polnareff, pleased to make your acquaintance. And of course you know my friend.” He straightens to meet Avdol’s gaze directly. “Dio.”

Joseph hisses loudly enough that Jotaro can hear it even from the back of their group; Kakyoin doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders tense so dramatically that Jotaro steps forward without thinking to interpose himself between Polnareff and the other. Avdol just ducks his head into a nod of assent without any visible strain in the easy relaxation of his body.

“Of course,” he says. “Will we be lucky enough to see him ourselves today?”

“I’m afraid not,” Polnareff declares. “Dio has more important things with which to concern himself than dealing with the four of you. You’ll have to make do with me instead.”

“A pity,” Avdol says. “Not to be rude, of course. But putting down minions isn’t exactly what I had intended to do this afternoon.”

“That makes two of us,” Polnareff declares. “I guess we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

“I suppose we shall,” Avdol says. Joseph rocks forward as if to take a step forward, but Avdol lifts his hand and the other goes still. “Do you mean to take us on all at once?”

“I’d rather not,” Polnareff admits. “I figure you Inspectors aren’t good for much of anything without your weapons, and I don’t see a place for you to be hiding Dominators in those casual clothes.” Kakyoin shifts behind Jotaro but Polnareff doesn’t so much as glance at the others; he is still looking at Avdol as if the rest of them have simply ceased to matter. “You ought to be able to put up something of a fight, though, right?”

Avdol lifts his hands to shake the sleeves of his jacket back from his arms. “I shall certainly endeavor to hold my own.”

“Excellent,” Polnareff says; and then he moves, with no more warning than the flash of a grin, to lunge over the distance between himself and the others. Joseph rocks backwards with a yell of surprise, Jotaro hunches forward to brace himself for a blow; but Polnareff is moving towards Avdol, disregarding the rest of them to lunge for the Enforcer standing like a wall before them. He’s faster than he looks like he should be; it’s hard for Jotaro to even track his motion as he bolts forward, and he doesn’t see where the switchblade in Polnareff’s grip comes from before it’s swinging down towards Avdol’s face. Avdol’s arm comes up, his sleeve sweeping through the air as if to catch the blade on the weight of the fabric, but Polnareff’s arm pivots at the elbow as if he expected the block to sweep the knife towards Avdol’s face instead. Avdol jerks back, there’s an arc of crimson red that slashes through the air before Polnareff swerves away, and Joseph shouts, “ _Avdol!_ ” with the pitch of alarm keen on his voice.

Avdol’s hand sweeps up, his upraised palm forestalling any further concern. “I am well enough,” he says, and lowers his arm as he straightens to face Polnareff again. There’s a cut across his cheek, deep enough to spill a curtain of red across the dark of his skin, but his gaze is completely steady as he looks at Polnareff in front of him. “Savor first blood. I predict you will not land a second blow.”

“Big talk for someone who couldn’t even defend himself,” Polnareff taunts. “Don’t quit your day job, fortune teller.” And he moves again, stepping far forward to cross into Avdol’s range again. The knife comes up, the glint of it catching the light to draw Jotaro’s eye and let him follow the motion of it, and a hand snaps out, an arm moving whip-quick to close around Polnareff’s forearm and stall his blow in midair. Polnareff makes a sharp noise of surprise, his eyes opening wide at this interruption to his expected hit, but Avdol doesn’t so much as blink.

“You seem fond of talking,” Avdol says calmly. “Perhaps you ought to hold your crowing until you are certain of your victory.” And his free hand swings out with more force than Jotaro had known a physical blow could bear to sink deep into his opponent’s stomach. Polnareff’s eyes open wider still, looking as if they are about to pop right out of his head, but Avdol gives him no chance to collect himself. He swings his head forward sharply to catch the span of Polnareff’s forehead squarely with the impact of his own, and Polnareff falls limp with unconsciousness at once, his knife falling from his slack fingers to clatter to the pavement only a moment before the dead weight of his body follows. Avdol steps forward to kick the knife aside with a grimace of distaste; Joseph steps forward to collect it, quick to close the distance now that the brief surge of violence is over.

“Well done,” he declares as he folds the knife and slides it safety into the pocket of his khakis. “I knew you could take him out no problem.” Jotaro snorts at this declaration but Joseph either doesn’t hear him or pretends not to. “I’ll call the Bureau and have them send out some backup so we can take him into custody from here.”

“Ah, Inspector Joestar.” Avdol lifts a hand to interrupt Joseph reaching for his communicator. “If it is possible might we have him brought back for departmental review?” He dips his head in the direction of Kakyoin still standing just over Jotaro’s shoulder. “I wonder if he might not be a case like our own Kakyoin and perhaps of some greater use for that.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. “You think he may be saved?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Avdol admits. “But he did announce himself before attacking. He could have taken out one or more of us without the declaration to make it a more even fight.”

Joseph shrugs. “I’ll see what we can do,” he says, still sounding skeptical, but when he lifts his communicator to his mouth to issue orders it’s with the crisp assurance of someone used to being obeyed, rather than one pleading for a favor.

There’s a footstep from behind Jotaro’s shoulder; when he turns his head to look Kakyoin is drawing closer to him, stepping in and near to stand just at his side instead of behind him. He doesn’t look up to meet Jotaro’s gaze; his eyes are fixed on Avdol’s recent opponent, his tone calmly considering as if he’s speaking in hypotheticals. “You do know that Enforcers are meant to serve as protection for Inspectors, right?”

Jotaro’s face heats. He follows Kakyoin’s example in turning aside to consider the figure collapsed on the pavement before them. “Yeah,” he says. “That’s why Avdol took him on.” He ducks his head towards the other man, now lifting a sleeve of his coat to wipe at the blood spilling down his cheek and trickling over his neck. “Something wrong with that?”

Kakyoin hums. “Not particularly,” he says. He doesn’t say anything else, and when Jotaro glances at him again he’s not watching the other either; but there’s a suggestion of a smile at his lips, and Jotaro has to look away and set his mouth tight to keep from giving in to the urge to mirror it.


	9. Pointed

Avdol’s predictions end up proving more accurate than anyone had guessed. After being brought back into the Bureau for treatment and observation Polnareff’s Coefficient drops steadily, responding to treatment as readily as Kakyoin’s did. Avdol attributes this to Dio’s influence and the persuasion that comes of charisma; Kakyoin says nothing at all, just considers the reports on Polnareff’s Coefficient with dark behind his eyes that Jotaro can’t get a read on no matter how many sideways glances he sneaks.

Polnareff is assigned to their department, in the end. Avdol puts in a request all on his own, and Joseph goes to plead the case to the higher-ups, but in the end Jotaro thinks it’s simply Polnareff’s own enthusiasm about joining in the effort to hunt down criminals that brings him to occupy yet another of the empty desks in the room they all work from. His Coefficient stabilizes lower than Kakyoin’s, if still prone to more fluctuation than either of the other two Enforcers; a fact that Polnareff tries to make a competition, until he realizes he can’t get any traction on the steady attention in Kakyoin’s gaze. He lets it go after that, falling instead into casual bickering with Avdol on the other side of the office, and Jotaro finds him far more tolerable in that context.

He still has his moments, though.

“There he is,” Polnareff crows this morning, as Jotaro pushes open the door to their department’s office. The other is sitting at his desk, as if putting on a show of work, but his monitors are dark with lack of action, and he’s reclined so far back in his desk chair that his keyboard would be well out of range even if he were reaching for it instead of lifting his hands to gesture a show of appreciation towards Jotaro in the doorway. “Our very own ladykiller, Jojo!”

Jotaro growls in the back of his throat and lifts a hand to push through his hair while he pulls his expression into rigid composure. “Shut up, Polnareff.”

“It’s only true,” Polnareff says. The shrill edge on his voice would be easier to take if it were later in the day, Jotaro thinks, but after a long night of completing the mission report for his latest undertaking he has the beginnings of a headache that grates with particular force against the edge of Polnareff’s overbright tone. “If you had had a Dominator in high school I bet you would have cut a swathe right through the girls!”

“She was a target,” Jotaro says, stepping past Polnareff’s tipped-back chair to make his way to the far corner of the office, where his own desk is set up in the quietest location he was able to secure. “It was my job to bring her in.”

“Ouch, heartless!” Polnareff exclaims. “I at least would have seen if she was pretty or not first.”

“And then done what?” That’s Avdol stepping in to draw Polnareff’s attention aside; he probably isn’t deliberately playing the hero, but Jotaro feels a surge of gratitude for him all the same as Polnareff turns to look to the other instead. “I hope you don’t mean you would have held back on bringing in someone determined to be a criminal by the System.”

“No, no!” Polnareff lifts both of his hands to urge aside this possibility, as if it’s an absurd conclusion rather than a wholly reasonable one. “I’d bring her in, of course.”

“Perhaps after taking her out for a meal?” Avdol suggests.

“Well, maybe,” Polnareff allows. “What if her Coefficient was super high? I’m not going to fire an Eliminator on a pretty young woman.”

“You would find yourself eliminated instead if you were to make that mistake,” Avdol tells him, with weight enough on his tone to give the words more force than the easy banter that went before. “Someone with a Coefficient that high has no hesitation in attempting murder. Some might even enjoy it. Good looks are hardly enough to guarantee the moral character of a stranger.”

“Come on,” Polnareff groans. “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t hesitate a _little_. We might be working for the System but it’s not like we’re supposed to be machines.”

“We’re not meant to be animals, either.” That’s from Kakyoin, sitting across the office from where Jotaro is just settling into his chair; his eyes are on his monitor, his fingers moving with smooth grace over his keyboard. His typing doesn’t so much as falter for the distraction of his words. “You’re supposed to be thinking with your head, Polnareff.”

“I am!” Polnareff protests. “I’m just acknowledging that I’m a guy, too. You’re really saying that all of you would have no problems shooting down a girl?”

“Jotaro didn’t seem to have any issues,” Kakyoin says. Jotaro glances up at him again but Kakyoin’s attention is still fixed before him instead of turned to meet the force of Jotaro’s gaze. “Maybe this is a more personal issue you need to deal with in your downtime.”

Polnareff snorts. “What, in my Enforcer cell? How am I supposed to bring a girl back there? How am I supposed to even _meet_ a girl in the first place?”

“I believe you are misunderstanding Kakyoin’s suggestion,” Avdol breaks in. “I do not believe further indulgence is what he had in mind.”

Polnareff groans. “I swear, none of you are normal except for Joestar.”

Avdol sighs. “ _Inspector_ Joestar.”

Jotaro’s monitors power up in front of him, the dark screens flickering to life to pull his attention away from the continuing conversation of the rest of the department. He’s happy to fix his gaze to the distraction of the surfaces and retreat into reviewing the reports he finished drafting the night before; with something else to occupy his attention, it’s easy to tune out Polnareff’s rambling speech and Avdol’s responses, and Kakyoin doesn’t speak again, apparently as absorbed in his work as Jotaro is attempting to become. The pair of them stay quiet, offering nothing but the sound of their keyboards in answer to Polnareff and Avdol’s bickering, until finally even Polnareff runs out of steam and subsides to do whatever measure of work he may be able to accomplish before getting bored again.

Kakyoin is the one to next break the silence, and then it is more by motion than speech. Jotaro looks up at once at the other pushing his chair back from his desk and getting to his feet; he keeps watching as Kakyoin rolls his shoulders out and arches his back out of the forward lean he’s been maintaining over his computer. Avdol doesn’t look up from what he’s doing as Kakyoin moves, but Polnareff takes the opportunity to tilt back from his desk and call “Where are you going?” as loudly as if he needs to shout to be heard over the noise of a crowd instead of the near-perfect silence of an office.

“I’m getting a coffee,” Kakyoin says without turning around. He moves past Jotaro without pausing; Jotaro looks back to his monitors rather than continuing to watch the other move past him, but he’s still aware of the shift of Kakyoin’s red hair shining bright in the periphery of his vision. “I’ll be right back.”

“Grab me one too,” Polnareff demands.

“Get it yourself,” Kakyoin fires back, his words quick even though his voice remains perfectly level. Polnareff groans dramatically as he rocks back in his chair but he doesn’t offer more protest as Kakyoin slips out the door into the hallway leading to the cafeteria. The rest of them lapse back into silence once more, although this time it’s only for the span of a minute before the door comes open again with a _bang_ to announce Joseph’s arrival.

“Well that was a useless effort,” he declares before he’s well through the doorway. “The woman won’t tell us anything we didn’t already know from her record. Couldn’t you have played a little nicer with her, Jotaro? A gentle touch will always get more cooperation than a rough one.”

“She’s a criminal,” Jotaro reminds him, only glancing up from his monitor long enough to give his grandfather a flat look. “She was threatening to bring the building down on me. What was I supposed to do?”

“Sweet talk her,” Joseph insists. “You have good reflexes and decent intuition but your people skills need some work if you want to keep this up. Not everything needs to be resolved with the end of a Dominator.”

Jotaro heaves a sigh. “I’m not going to start trying to flirt with my targets, grandpa.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Joseph insists. “Just a lighter touch. You never know what a friendly voice can do, maybe you could have brought her Coefficient down by a few points.”

“She was over 200,” Jotaro reminds him.

“And still is,” Joseph says before sighing and shaking his head with heavy resignation. “She’s not going to be any use to us for a good long while, if at all. We’d best move on to our next possibility if we want to track down Dio sometime this year.”

“I’ve been working on that,” Avdol says, and lifts his hand to gesture Joseph around to look at his computer monitors. “It’s a minor connection, but I think if we look at these accidental drownings we may be able to track something down. There have been far more this last year, and all under increasingly unlikely situations.”

“Like those of a serial killer looking to get caught?” Joseph asks, and steps in close to lean over Avdol’s desk. “Show me what you got.”

The door to the office comes open again to admit Kakyoin. He’s urging the door open with his hip instead of his hands, as both of those are occupied with a pair of cups steaming with coffee. Polnareff sits up straighter as he sees the other, his expression softening into the anticipation of gratitude, but Kakyoin walks right past him without so much as glancing in his direction. Jotaro is expecting him to take both cups to his own desk, just out of spite for Polnareff, but when Kakyoin pauses it’s alongside Jotaro’s chair as he turns in to meet the other’s gaze.

“Inspector,” he says, with a smile to soften the formal title into the gentle structure of teasing. He holds out one of the cups to offer to Jotaro before him. “I thought you might care for a pick-me-up.”

Jotaro reaches up to take the mug from Kakyoin by bracing his fingers at the bottom of the cup. It’s hot against his touch, enough to ache a burn under his skin, but he doesn’t look away from Kakyoin’s eyes so he can set the cup down the faster. “Thanks.”

“ _Rude_ ,” Polnareff protests. “Why does _Jotaro_ get a coffee without even asking?”

“Because he didn’t ask,” Kakyoin shoots back. “And he’s an Inspector. Technically he’s our supervisor.”

“You didn’t get Joestar a coffee.”

“I didn’t know he was here.” Kakyoin returns to his own desk and brings his cup to his lips for a sip of the steaming liquid. He shows no particular discomfort at the temperature, just lowers the cup to smile at Polnareff. “ _You_ can get him one when you go to get your own.” Polnareff scoffs protest to this, albeit incoherently enough that Kakyoin doesn’t seem to feel the need to answer; he just settles back into his desk and sets his cup down so he can get back to his work. Jotaro keeps watching him as Polnareff sputters himself into petulant resignation; Kakyoin doesn’t indicate any sign that he notices the other’s irritation, but after Polnareff has shoved up from his desk to stomp out into the hallway his gaze slides from his monitors sideways to catch Jotaro’s lingering attention. They look at each other for a moment unobserved; then Kakyoin’s mouth curls up on a smile and Jotaro has to look away at once to return his attention to the display of his monitors before him.

He doesn’t look at Kakyoin again, but even without seeing him watching he’s sure the curve of his own smile is clear.


	10. Imposter

There is no slowing in their department’s work. From the way Joseph had spoken of his years-long effort, Jotaro had expected a great deal of paperwork, of frowning at too-familiar data in an effort to force it to give up some new fragment of insight while waiting for the next report of a spiking Coefficient from someone on the street scanners. But if Joseph has truly been searching for years it was only for the lack of support, Jotaro thinks, because now hardly a day passes when one or another of their department isn’t venturing out with Dominators and backup to chase after a report. The city is churning, coming alive with crime as if it were only waiting the addition of further additions to Joseph’s team to do so, and if Joseph is tied up in scowling over the dozens of new reports he’s receiving Jotaro has his hands full assisting the Enforcers.

They go out as a group, for the most part. Joseph leaves the office only rarely, when he is caught up enough on his reports or too stir-crazy to stay, and with only one other Inspector available for three Enforcers Jotaro sometimes thinks he’ll never so much as get the chance to sit down between missions. He goes out with Avdol, and Polnareff, and sometimes the two of them together, although that generally proves more exhausting than he’s willing to deal with; and Kakyoin, there like a shadow on almost every mission. Kakyoin is far quieter than Polnareff and shows less of a carefully-held temper than Avdol; Avdol can be counted upon to read the situation and come to a well-reasoned conclusion on the same, but when his attention is stripped away by the everpresent distraction Polnareff provides it is Kakyoin who offers Jotaro backup, or sometimes even goes out to retrieve Polnareff from whatever ill-considered impulse he’s presently acting upon. Jotaro knows Kakyoin is an Enforcer, with a Coefficient that sits in the high hundreds for all that it remains as steady as if locked in place, but there are times when it feels almost easier to think of him as another Inspector, just as reliable and far more restrained than what Joseph offers on those rare occasions he can get himself out of the office.

They’re out on their own, today. Their last mission was with the whole of the department together, in another of Joseph’s focused efforts to obtain some measure of information enough to guide the direction of his pursuit of the greater criminal still freely walking the streets. It should have been a straightforward task, one of pacing out the streets and perhaps speaking to a few likely members of the crowd; but Polnareff had gotten himself separated while breaking off to use a bathroom in one of the restaurants scattered through the city, and by the time anyone had thought to wonder at his continued absence the fight was all but over. They found Polnareff from the shouts of panic he caused in his stumble back through the restaurant, his uniform spattered with the effect of a Lethal Eliminator and bleeding from more knife wounds than Jotaro has ever seen on anyone before. Joseph had to evacuate the restaurant and erect a police line just to minimize the effect to the Coefficients of the diners, and he and Avdol had stayed to do damage control while Kakyoin and Jotaro took Polnareff back to the Bureau for medical treatment. He was declared in no real danger, albeit bloodstained and shaky from the fight for his life, but his misstep in the restaurant leaves him on probation at the Bureau for two weeks, and the paperwork occupies both Joseph and Avdol’s every waking hour.

Jotaro and Kakyoin are the only ones remaining to handle whatever reports may come in over the period of Polnareff’s probation, and with Polnareff’s temper rapidly fraying with each day of his enforced confinement Jotaro is happy for the first excuse he can find to be elsewhere than in the office. Even one of Joseph’s endless requests for more information is enough of an excuse for Jotaro, and if Kakyoin has any hesitation about accompanying him he shows none of it by word or look. They check out a pair of Dominators for themselves from the Bureau, testing to make sure the scans recognize them and unlock the weapons properly, and then they leave for the relative freedom offered by the open streets.

Jotaro likes pacing through the city. It’s not something that used to appeal to him, when his life consisted of school and home and the brief passage between the two; but working with Enforcers who are confined to the walls of the Bureau except for supervised missions has given him an appreciation for his own freedom to stride through the crush of the street and visit wherever he wishes to go without restriction. He doesn’t know if Kakyoin is bothered by his confinement -- if he is, the other has never said anything to that effect to Jotaro’s hearing -- but it’s pleasant to be out of the office, and the more so when Jotaro considers the other’s perspective. Jotaro can almost imagine they are the students they sometimes pose as, as if they are a pair of friends taking the long route home from school to stop for a soda or to see a movie; the thought absorbs his attention so thoroughly he finds himself thinking more about that than the direction his feet are carrying him as he moves through the city with Kakyoin in his wake. It’s the crackle of his communicator that jars him back to the present and pulls a frown onto his face as he lifts his wrist and presses to accept the incoming call.

 _“Jotaro.”_ Joseph’s voice rasps over the electronics of communication; Jotaro imagines he can hear the frown at the other’s mouth as well as he might see it. _“Where are you?”_

Jotaro frowns. “I’m in the city,” he says, bringing the communicator towards his mouth so he can speak more softly than the near-shout necessary when it is farther from his lips. “Kakyoin and I are looking for information.”

 _“You and Kakyoin,”_ Joseph repeats. _“Any trace of Dio yet?”_

Jotaro hisses. “I’m in the middle of the street,” he grates into the communicator. “Hang on.” He presses the button to mute his wristband and ducks aside, cutting through the crowd as much with the force of his scowl as with the actual motion of his body. People part for him, clearing a path to one of the side streets leading off the main pathway, and Jotaro steps into an alcove alongside a heavy steel door where he can get his back to the wall and keep an eye out for any eavesdroppers. He lifts his communicator from his side and unmutes the sound of it.

 _“--trying to tell him now.”_ Joseph’s voice cuts back in in the middle of a sentence, too muffled for it to be intended for Jotaro. _“I think he muted me, can you believe that?”_

“I was in the middle of a city street,” Jotaro says. “If you want to talk about Dio I should at least have a little more privacy than a crowd.”

 _“There’s nothing as good as a crowd for being ignored,”_ Joseph informs him with the haughty self-assurance that he always brings when he’s speaking from what he considers to be experience. _“No one cares at all about what anyone else is doing, you could plan a murder and everyone who heard would think you’re talking about a TV show.”_

Jotaro lifts a hand to press to the ache at his forehead. “Did you actually need to tell me something, old man?”

 _“Of course I do. Do you think I’d call you just to distract you from your case?”_ Jotaro does but he doesn’t say so before Joseph takes a breath and goes on in a lower tone. _“I wanted to tell you to keep your guard up. We’re getting reports from a street scanner of someone with a higher-than-usual Crime Coefficient and they look to be marking your path pretty closely. You have your Dominator on you?”_

“Yes,” Jotaro says without having to reach and check for the weight of the weapon strapped to the back of his uniform. “They’re coming up on the street scanners? You must have an identification for them if you can track their location. What do they look like?”

There’s a pause, strange more for the silence from Joseph’s end than anything else. Jotaro frowns, wondering if his question didn’t go through, and is about to speak again when Joseph speaks.

 _“We’re getting an ID,”_ he says, speaking with strange hesitation on his words. _“That’s why I called you, to give you a warning.”_

“What warning?” Jotaro asks. “Spit it out, grandpa.”

Joseph heaves a sigh into the communicator. _“Is Kakyoin there with you?”_

It’s an innocuous question. It could merit the same weight as asking about Jotaro’s Dominator, to make sure he has tabs on the Enforcer he’s meant to watch. But Jotaro hears the words Joseph left unspoken, and reads the pauses in the usual easy flow of the other’s speech, and his intuition leaps ahead of him to draw the impossible conclusion that is the only one left to draw. He lifts his head to turn and look around him; but Kakyoin is nowhere in sight, the side street is empty of anyone but Jotaro himself. Maybe he just fell behind when Jotaro veered off the main boulevard, maybe he’s still back there looking for his missing partner; but Jotaro’s shoulders are tensing with understanding that he can’t logic himself out of.

“I’m muting you,” he says into the communicator. “I’ll call you back.” And he cuts off the sound before Joseph can protest or offer any additional information for Jotaro to consider. He has the important parts, anyway, and right now he needs the space to make sense of those in his own head. It can’t be, there’s no way, not from Kakyoin; but he’s returning towards the main street faster than he left it, striding fast over the distance as his scowl tightens and his shoulders hunch.

“Kakyoin,” Jotaro calls, pitching his voice loud to carry along the alley between the buildings looming on either side of him as if they mean to crush him out of existence. He leans forward to speed his movement, tipping into nearly a run as he goes. “Hey, _Kakyoin_.” He draws up to the corner, accelerating into the movement as he draws out onto the main street to look back the way he came, and in front of him a figure stumbles backwards, holding up both hands as they fall into a retreat from his rushed advance.

“Woah there.” The voice is strained around a laugh, as familiar as the color of the hair falling to a wave alongside the violet eyes lifting to meet Jotaro’s gaze. “No need to have a fit, I’m here.” Kakyoin’s mouth curves onto the shape of a smile as he looks at Jotaro from beneath the fall of his hair. “What’s the charge, Inspector?”

“Kakyoin,” Jotaro says. He looks at the other for a long moment, frowning as he considers the details of the other’s face. Kakyoin raises an eyebrow and cants his head to the side as if asking for more, and after a moment Jotaro shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I thought you were following me.”

“I was doing my best,” Kakyoin says, his voice jumping up to the plaintive edge of a whine. “I was trying to make it through the crowd when you just took off out of nowhere.” His lip comes out onto a pout, his brows draw together over his shadowed eyes. “That wasn’t very nice of you, Inspector Kujo.” Jotaro frowns harder; Kakyoin holds his expression for a moment before letting it go with a sudden laugh, as if at some unvoiced joke. “No need to look so stern, Inspector. We both know which of us holds the right end of the leash, you don’t have to be worried about your well-trained dog forgetting who the master is.” Jotaro grunts rather than answering but Kakyoin seems to take it as adequate reply; he steps forward, only pausing to pat at Jotaro’s arm as he moves past the other. “Shall we stop wasting time and get ourselves back to work?”

“Yeah,” Jotaro says, and turns to follow Kakyoin without easing any of the scowl set tight on his face.

Kakyoin moves smoothly through the crowd. They have no real direction in mind, nothing more structured than the general information-gathering that Joseph always so desires, but he moves as if he’s heading for a specific location that only he know how to find. There’s something weirdly sinuous to the way he navigates through the crowd, as if his balance is a little more fixed than it usually is or his feet are landing with more force at the pavement. Jotaro frowns at the back of the other’s head, watching the shift of red hair at the back of Kakyoin’s collar as he weaves through the crowd around them with no apparent difficulty in seeing his way over the tops of their heads.

“I’m kind of hoping we do find ourselves a criminal or two,” Kakyoin says, speaking without concern for the crowd around them as he projects his voice back over his shoulder towards Jotaro behind him. “Promise me if you do you’ll let me take them on for a minute or two before you break out the Dominator?” He lifts his hands to crack his knuckles; the sound is crisp as a gunshot even over the dull murmur of the crowd around them. “It’s just not the same, fighting the practice dummies in the Bureau training rooms.”

“Sure,” Jotaro says without inflection on his voice, but Kakyoin doesn’t turn to see what expression goes along with that.

“Thank goodness,” he laughs. “You have no idea what it’s like being cooped up in those Enforcer quarters all day. It really does make you feel like an animal in the zoo. I guess that’s all the System thinks we are, anyway, but it’s not very nice to be reminded of it.” He tips his head back to look at Jotaro over his shoulder; the curl of his hair falls in front of his face. “After getting treated like that it’s no surprise we have some tension to let out, don’t you think, Inspector?”

Jotaro frowns harder. “That’s criminal.”

Kakyoin bubbles over a laugh and turns away as he lifts his hand to wave this aside. “I’m just joking, jeez. Do you have to sign away your sense of humor when you join up with the Bureau too?” He gestures to a turning at the crossroad they’re approaching, in the direction of a less crowded side-street. “Let’s take a look at how things are over there, Inspector Kujo.”

Jotaro follows in Kakyoin’s wake without looking at any of the people in the crowd around him. His gaze is fixed on the span of the other’s shoulders underneath the dark cut of his uniform jacket, and his attention on the shift of his own hand as he reaches around to touch against the back of his uniform, where the weight of his Dominator is strapped. The sound of the latch coming open is lost to the murmur of the crowd around them, too soft to be heard even over the sound of their footsteps, but Kakyoin slows as if he can sense the motion even before Jotaro has lifted the weapon to aim at the line of the other’s shoulders and halted the forward pace of his feet.

“Stop.” It’s just one word, spoken clearly but at far less than a shout, but Kakyoin goes still ahead of Jotaro. This street is far less crowded than the main boulevard; there are only a handful of people in sight, and they are scattering as quickly as Jotaro glimpses them, fast to remove themselves from the scene of clearly impending violence. “You’re not going any farther than this.”

Kakyoin tilts his head. The wave of his hair slides over his shoulder; Jotaro can just glimpse his profile against the dark of the buildings around them. “That’s harsh,” he drawls. “I thought we were friends, Inspector.”

Jotaro shakes his head. “Not when you’ve fallen back into that bullshit Dio told you,” he says. “There’s no way I’m going to let your Coefficient jump again.” In his hands the Dominator hums, whirring with the soft sound of machinery as it reforms itself to fire, but Jotaro’s attention is on the identification screen, where the value displayed is steadily rising to threaten the 200 point. “You must be off your treatment.”

Kakyoin’s laugh is strange, high and brittle enough that it jolts Jotaro’s attention away from his display screen to the other instead. Kakyoin’s head is tilted, his hair spilling back from his forehead; but his face is contorted into an expression like Jotaro has never seen there, even on the first night they met. Jotaro’s skin crawls, his shoulders tighten on instinctive revulsion, and he’s suddenly certain of the situation even before the other’s laughter has ceased.

“What the hell,” he says, his voice harsh with vicious shock. He lifts the Dominator higher in front of him. “You’re not Kakyoin.”

“Finally noticed, did you?” The voice is identical to Kakyoin’s, a perfect match right down to the almost-slur he puts at the ends of his words; but the tone is all wrong, now, bright and screeching like metal dragging against glass, until Jotaro can hardly believe he ever mistook it for his partner’s. The other takes a step forward, the elegance in the crowd now softened and melted into something so loose-limbed he looks as if he’s stumbling like a drunkard as he moves. “I thought maybe you’d shoot me and take me in without ever realizing what we’d done.”

 _What did you do_ , Jotaro wants to say, _where is he, where is Kakyoin?_ But his hands are on the Dominator, and the display is still ratcheting higher alongside the flickering identification, and what he says is, “How did you fool the scanners?”

“You like that?” the other says, tipping his head to flash a mocking smile back at Jotaro. “We’ve got the hologram technology working just right this week.” He lifts his hand to drag fingers over what still, even now, looks like Kakyoin’s face; the features blur and smudge, dragged to static for a moment by the interruption of a physical force pulling through the overlay, but Jotaro’s Dominator doesn’t so much as hiccup over the readout. “Street scanners, face locks: as far as the System is concerned, I _am_ Kakyoin Noriaki.” He reaches behind himself for the weight of the Dominator tucked into the back of his uniform; that flickers, too, illusion crackling apart as his fingers touch it.

“Even Dominators.” And he moves with stunning, instant grace, pivoting on his heel to spin and face Jotaro. Jotaro jerks to the side, acting on intuition and the warning of that hologram sparkle at the back of the other’s uniform, but even then he’s barely fast enough: there’s a _crack_ of sound, a flare of heat, and Jotaro snatches one of his hands back from the handle of his Dominator, hissing with the sudden pain. His fingers are bleeding, when he looks, dripping red from a deep gouge torn across the backs of two knuckles and down into the side of his hand, but he hasn’t lost any, and that’s enough to focus him as he returns his hold to steady the base of his gun.

“You’re a criminal,” Jotaro says. “That technology is illegal.”

“No shit,” the man says with Kakyoin’s stolen face. The hologram over his weapon is flickering, struggling to hold its shape with the force of his movement; Jotaro can see the details of a gun in the gaps, if he needed any more proof than the injury aching all through his left hand. “You think any of us give a shit about what your precious Sibyl System says?” He fires again, the explosion masked by the hologram, but Jotaro is moving already, ducking down and striding forward to close the distance between them. The other falls back, moving fast and almost stumbling, but his face holds to that tense smile that twists Kakyoin’s features into an unrecognizable mask of mockery. “We could wander the city doing whatever we want, committing crimes with any face we please.” Kakyoin’s features flicker, melting like clay before reforming into a wider jaw, heavier cheeks, dark, dull eyes. “The System has no way to tell us apart.”

“Fine,” Jotaro says. “I guess we’ll just have to do it ourselves, then.” And he lunges forward, throwing himself bodily over the distance between the other and himself. The stranger’s face softens, eyes opening wide on shock as the gun between them comes up and the hologram bursts with another flare of an explosion, but Jotaro is already moving, and when the bullet catches the body of his Dominator it ricochets wide, striking sparks as it deforms and careens away. Jotaro is braced for the recoil of the impact, steadying the weapon between both his hands against the force, and he jerks it back around as he closes with the other. Those dull eyes widen, giving way to the first sign of fear, and Jotaro shoves the Dominator against the other’s chest so the pattern of the uniform gives way to a spill of static. The husky feminine voice speaks, as calm as ever: _“Crime Coefficient 216. Paralyzer Mode”_ and Jotaro squeezes hard on the trigger to fire the bolt of energy straight into the other’s chest. He can feel the criminal’s shoulders tense, can see his face tighten with the electricity jolting through him, and then he tumbles backwards, falling hard to the pavement as his body crackles with the play of static over him. His features blur, his uniform hazes, and then there’s a spray of sparks from the front of his chest and the hologram disintegrates to leave a heavy-jawed man lying rigidly unconscious on the pavement before Jotaro. His dark hair is tied up into a bun at the back of his neck; other than that he’s wearing only a pair of pants, so skin-tight they’re more leggings than anything else. Jotaro supposes they are meant to keep from interfering with whatever hologram he happens to be wearing; he still spares them a grimace before turning aside so he can turn his communicator back on.

“This is Inspector Kujo Jotaro,” he says into the receiver. “I’ve just taken a man into custody for questioning. Backup requested.”

 _“Jotaro!”_ That’s Joseph’s voice, loud even over the effect of the communicator. _“Did you have to take him out? What happened with Kakyoin?”_

Jotaro shakes his head without thinking. “It wasn’t Kakyoin,” he says. His chest feels tight as he looks back to the crowd at the main boulevard and thinks back over the blocks he travelled in the wake of a stranger instead of his partner. “He had a hologram. I don’t--”

_“Jotaro?”_

Jotaro’s breath gives way in a rush at the sound of that one word, even crackling with static over the communicator. His fingers slip in the blood dripping over his hand; for a moment he loses traction on the button to let him respond and he has to struggle to claim it again. He’s almost relieved; it gives his throat a chance to ease, to unravel some of the audible strain of relief that he feels in the first moment of recognition. “Kakyoin.”

_“Where are you? I lost you in the crowd, I’ve been trying to call you--are you alright?”_

Jotaro ducks his head in over his communicator. “Fine,” he says. “I’m fine.”

 _“Jotaro.”_ That’s Avdol, speaking over the sound of Joseph shouting in the background. _“We’re sending another department to your location. Keep your communicator on so they can track you down.”_

“Alright,” Jotaro says. “Kakyoin, I’m coming out to the main street to meet you.” He strides back down the side street, shaking his hand as he goes to shed the worst of the blood; his fingers hurt, now that the rush of adrenaline has faded somewhat, but he’s most concerned with the appearance of dripping blood in the middle of a crowded street. He’s almost to the boulevard when Kakyoin comes into view, moving quickly even as he looks around; he sees Jotaro immediately, before the other has so much as raised his hand to wave, and when he comes in to meet him he does so at a jog to cross the distance that much faster.

“Jojo,” he says, breathless and wide-eyed with relief. “I lost sight of you at a crossing and then I couldn’t find you.” His gaze drops to the other’s hand and he reaches to catch at Jotaro’s wrist. “You’re hurt.”

Jotaro shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“You can’t go out on the street bleeding like that.” Kakyoin looks past Jotaro’s shoulder to where the attacker is lying Paralyzer-stiff on the street; he nods to gesture. “Let’s wait over there in case he starts to come to.”

Jotaro turns, following Kakyoin’s pull against his wrist as the other leads him forward. “He’ll be out for a while,” he says. “I hit him dead-on.”

“I’m sure you did,” Kakyoin says. He draws Jotaro in to stand alongside the other and turns Jotaro’s hand up while he reaches into the pocket of his uniform coat. “I’m just being cautious.” He shakes out the folds from a green-embroidered\ white handkerchief before bringing it around to wrap Jotaro’s bleeding hand with efficient grace. His head is ducked down over what he’s doing; when he speaks it’s softly enough that Jotaro can only barely catch the words. “And I’d love an excuse to shoot him again myself.”

Jotaro’s mouth catches at the corner to turn up towards the sketch of a smile. Kakyoin glances up at him from under the shadow of his hair, his own lips echoing the shape of Jotaro’s; then he ducks back to what he’s doing, lifting a hand to push at the wave of hair that falls in front of his face. Jotaro watches his fingers brush against the lock with no trace of hologram static, and when Kakyoin tugs the knot around his palm tight Jotaro submits without a thought of protest.


	11. Downtime

It takes some effort to get Kakyoin’s handkerchief clean again. Jotaro tries washing it out after he’s released from the infirmary with a sterile bandage over the backs of his fingers and the side of his hand in place of the tied-off cloth, but the bloodstains cling to the white fabric no matter how he scrubs at them and he’s finally forced to admit defeat. He takes the cloth with him to his mother’s home that night so he can trade a few minutes of answering his mother’s curiosity and bearing her worry over his injured hand in exchange for help in getting the stain free, which she does in a matter of minutes with the washing machine built into the bottom floor of the house. Even Jotaro can’t find any trace of the dark-set stain when she returns the handkerchief to him after dinner, cleaned and dried and run through the press to give the folds unnecessary crispness, and he’s grateful enough to offer sincere thanks before he takes the handkerchief and leaves to travel the few blocks to the quiet apartment he rented for himself with the first paycheck he received from the Bureau.

He has the handkerchief tucked into the pocket of his uniform coat when he leaves the next morning to walk to work. It’s some distance away, far enough that he prefers to take the intra-city transport most mornings, but he’s awake earlier than usual and tense in a way he can’t explain as he eats his breakfast without tasting it, and the distraction of a walk seems more of a relief than standing waiting for the transport would provide. He crosses the distance in peace, with no more distraction for himself than the drift of his thoughts and the pleasant effort of mild exercise for his body, and by the time he’s scanning his identification card to gain access to the Bureau he’s returned to a close approximation of his usual contentment.

The office is quiet when Jotaro arrives. Polnareff rarely makes his appearance until later in the morning, sometimes delaying his yawning arrival until just before lunch; Joseph is unusually present, but he’s leaning in over Avdol’s desk and his attention is too absorbed by whatever they are discussing to spare anything more than a “Morning,” delivered so casually Jotaro is left not entirely sure he was recognized at all. He’s not complaining; he appreciates the lack of fanfare as he comes in to turn his computer on and illuminate the monitors with the glow of power. Getting himself settled takes a few minutes, during which time Joseph and Avdol continue their discussion in low tones audibly tense with focus but too soft for Jotaro to make out details without actively eavesdropping; it’s almost a quarter hour after Jotaro arrives that Joseph straightens to depart, grumbling over something too softly for Jotaro to pick out the subject.

Jotaro waits until Joseph has left the office, striding out into the hallway with a frown of consideration on his face as he rounds the corner and vanishes out of sight, before he speaks loudly enough to draw Avdol’s attention to himself. “Is Kakyoin in yet?” There’s no one else remaining in the office but the two of them; but Kakyoin usually arrives before anyone, and from what Jotaro can see the monitors over the other’s desk are still shut down to dark stillness.

“Kakyoin?” Avdol repeats, lifting his head from his own monitor as if he’s only just noticed the other’s absence, but he’s shaking his head almost as soon as he glances at the empty desk. “No, I have yet to see him this morning.”

Jotaro grunts acknowledgment of this statement. He has a report open on his computer monitor that he ought to be working on completing, but his attention keeps sliding up to the door with every footstep in the hall outside, as if he might be able to recognize Kakyoin just from the sound of his approach. He has to keep fighting to fix his focus on the screen before him, and even when he succeeds all he is doing is staring blankly at the monitor without actually taking in any of the information.

“Ah,” Avdol says, as if he’s just recalled something. “I believe he may be taking the day off from work. He mentioned something to that effect yesterday after the two of you returned from your mission.”

Jotaro’s attention comes up from his screen to fix on Avdol with full force. “Taking the day off?” he repeats.

“Yes,” Avdol says. “We are permitted vacation days just as Inspectors are.” He doesn’t sound bitter; if anything there is something of amusement under his voice as he goes on watching the screen of his own computer. “They accumulate faster with greater seniority, but Kakyoin should have a few available to him since he began.”

Jotaro stares at Avdol. “I haven’t seen you take a vacation day.”

“That is true,” Avdol agrees. “There isn’t much point for many of us. We must remain within the Bureau so long as we are on our own, and for myself I would rather put my time towards pursuing a case. I rarely took vacation even when I was an Inspector and had the whole of the city available to me, after all.”

“You have to stay here on your time off?” Jotaro asks, and Avdol dips his head in answer.

“All Enforcers must,” he says. “It’s a safety precaution. Even with a stable Coefficient, we are Enforcers because we fall outside the range the System deems safe, or because we stayed outside that range for too long and may revert to that same level rapidly. If we go outside the Bureau we must have an Inspector with us to serve as supervision and return us in case something were to go wrong.”

Jotaro frowns. “That’s not fair.”

Avdol’s laugh is warm and hearty, with no indication of feeling the oppression of his situation. “I am not here to judge the justice of the Sibyl System,” he declares. “It is well enough for me. I knew what risk I was taking when I first became an Inspector. I am content with where that path has brought me.”

“Can you leave with someone else?” Jotaro asks.

Avdol ducks his head into a nod. “Indeed I may, so long as that someone else is an Inspector. I know of several other Enforcers who coordinate with one or another of their Inspectors for supervision for visits to the city. Once your grandfather and I obtained special dispensation to travel overseas for nearly a month.” Avdol’s smile is warm with recollection as he tips back in his chair and crosses his hands over his stomach. “I believe he has some photographs from that visit up on display in his office, if you wish to ask him about the details.”

Jotaro grimaces and shakes his head. “No.” There’s the rap of footsteps in the hall outside; they’re too fast and too loud, but Jotaro looks up all the same. “Did Kakyoin say if he was leaving the Bureau?”

“He indicated nothing of that sort,” Avdol tells him. “I suppose it is possible that he has befriended an Inspector in another department and gained the necessary supervision that way; but I doubt it.” He shrugs. “I would guess he was simply in want of some time to explore with more freedom than what the work day allows.”

“Oh,” Jotaro says. “Sure.” There’s another patter of footsteps, heavier even than the last and with a far longer stride; but these Jotaro recognizes too well, enough that he is grimacing and bracing himself even before the door to the office flies open to swing into the wall alongside it.

“Good morning, you workaholics!” Polnareff’s voice carries to the far side of the office, bouncing off the wall alongside Jotaro’s desk to double back on itself and make his already piercing tone actively painful to hear. Polnareff steps through the doorway, leaving the door to swing shut behind him as he stops abruptly in the middle of the floor to stare at Kakyoin’s empty desk. “Where’s Kakyoin?”

“Having the right idea,” Jotaro says, and pushes to his feet at once. “I’ll be back.” He steps around his desk to move past Polnareff, who stares surprise at him but still moves to the side to let him pass. Jotaro draws the door open so he can emerge into the hallway and leave the office to the other two; as the door falls shut behind him he can hear the beginning of Polnareff speaking again, asking “What’s wrong with _him_?” to Avdol, but he just keeps walking to leave Avdol to occupy the other Enforcer as best as friendship or bickering can manage.

Jotaro doesn’t know where he’s heading. The Bureau is a huge building, with more floors than he has yet had occasion to visit and enough offices to get thoroughly lost on any one of those; but he has some general sense of what’s in different areas, and some of those he dismisses almost without thinking of them. There’s no need for him to head for the infirmary, whether the space for general first aid or the more secure treatment area for Enforcers or others with elevated Coefficients, and he doubts there will be anyone in the offices where Joseph is supposed to work than those upper-level Inspectors who are assigned to that area. Jotaro has passed by the Enforcers’ rooms, where an entire floor is partitioned off into apartments of approximately the same size though with somewhat more security than the one he has taken for himself in the city’s downtown; but he can’t picture Kakyoin lingering there, and he wouldn’t know which room to go to in any case. He could be in the training space that Jotaro has only visited a handful of times when late evenings of work demanded physical exertion as the best means to keep himself awake; but when Jotaro returns to the expanse of the main lobby he walks across it instead of taking the turn towards the training rooms, cutting across the tiled floor to make his way to the flight of stairs that leads down instead of up, dipping into the first of the multitude of basement levels the Bureau maintains.

The Bureau is larger even than it looks from the street, thanks to as many lower levels as it has upper; but the first of these hardly counts as a basement at all. It’s designed into a vast open space, with clear glass windows along one side with no more than the metal supports crossing them to break up the view of the city. The dip of the hill that the Bureau is built on leaves this level inset only a foot below street level; those lingering here can claim one of the high tables set along the side of the space, or take up the greater comfort of the occasional loveseats or armchairs to recline into what looks very like a casual restaurant or a classy café more than the cafeteria Jotaro knows it to be. There’s a pool table set up at the far side of the room, beneath hanging lamps shut off right now thanks to the illumination of daylight offered by the windows, and a bar that is similarly darkened in the absence of anyone to staff it, but the room isn’t empty, in spite of the midmorning hour between breakfast and lunch. There are a handful of people here, most of them alone and scattered to various points around the room to appreciate their own privacy; and at one of the hightop tables, with his hair curling crimson around his face, Kakyoin is leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table as he reads the hardcopy book braced between both hands.

Jotaro hesitates at the entrance to the cafeteria floor. He has been looking for Kakyoin, guided in some vague way by the barely-there weight of the handkerchief folded carefully at the inside pocket of his coat; now that he’s found him, he feels his intention evaporate at once. Kakyoin is taking the day as a vacation, to spend outside of the office and in the peace that he might find alone; it seems more likely than otherwise that he would prefer to be alone, rather than forced into conversation with one of the coworkers he took the day to be free from. Jotaro wonders if he ought to leave, to turn and retreat to the office and wait to return the handkerchief until tomorrow or the day after or later still, but while he’s standing hesitating Kakyoin lifts his head from his book as if responding to the sound of his name. His gaze swings across the restaurant, cutting past the scattered strangers to find Jotaro with perfect focus, and no sooner has he seen the other than his mouth curves onto a smile too warm and immediate for Jotaro to doubt.

“Jojo,” he calls, and lifts his hand to wave. Jotaro has no real choice but to draw nearer, even if he had any desire to retreat; he comes forward obediently, following the direction of Kakyoin’s greeting as the other looks down to mark his place in the book and close it before him so he can slide it aside. As Jotaro draws nearer Kakyoin looks up to beam at him, looking as warm as if Jotaro is a favorite friend rather than hardly more than a coworker. “Good morning. How is your hand doing?”

Jotaro lifts his hand from his side and looks down as if to remind himself by sight of the injury currently numbed out of any real pain. “Fine,” he says, more shortly than he entirely intended to, and drops his hand again. “You’re taking the day off?”

Kakyoin ducks his head into a nod. “I am,” he says. “We didn’t have any major leads to follow up on, and I thought Polnareff and Avdol could offer support if something came up unexpectedly.”

He lifts his hand from the edge of the table to touch against the cover of the book set carefully alongside him as he graces Jotaro with the soft of a smile. “I’ve been reading this book and didn’t want to stop halfway through. I had the vacation available, so…”

Jotaro’s attention drops to the heavy weight of the novel indicated. “You’re allowed to have books?” He regrets the question as soon as he asks it, for the shadow of confinement it must throw on Kakyoin’s present illusory freedom, but Kakyoin doesn’t look any more offended than he sounds when he huffs a laugh by way of answer.

“We are,” he says. “There’s a library, of sorts, that we can request files from. There are a few restrictions for some people, depending on the details of your Hue and the level of your Coefficient, but for the most part you can get anything you want, even if you have to wait a bit for a special request to be approved.” His fingers slide across the cover of the book, stroking as if he’s appreciating the texture. “I’ve been waiting for this one for two weeks.”

“Oh,” Jotaro says. There’s a pause; then he speaks at once. “I shouldn’t take up your time.”

Kakyoin looks up. His eyes are wide and bright with surprise. “What?”

Jotaro dips his chin towards the book. “From your reading.”

“Ah,” Kakyoin says, and laughs again. “No, it’s fine. I’ll finish reading it this afternoon, I’m not in a rush.” He hesitates for a moment; then, in a rush: “If you wanted to have a cup of coffee, we could…”

Jotaro can see the trailing end of Kakyoin’s sentence, however politely unfinished it is left. The book is slid away to the far edge of the table; there’s another chair drawn up at the other side to allow for easy conversation over the circular surface. With a cup of coffee between them they could lean in over the table to linger in the easy murmur of idle conversation for an hour; Kakyoin’s smile gives the invitation sincerity enough that Jotaro feels sure it’s not just politeness making the offer. Jotaro looks at Kakyoin, at the soft green of the shirt he’s wearing and the tan of the casual pants he has on in place of his dark uniform; and then he remembers his own uniform crisp over his shoulders and around his legs, and he jerks his head into a negation as much for himself as for Kakyoin.

“I can’t,” he says. “I have to get back to the office.”

Kakyoin blinks; his attention skims down Jotaro’s body, pausing over the details of the other’s uniform before his cheeks flush pink with self-consciousness. “Oh. Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“I’d like to,” Jotaro says, speaking too fast to wait for Kakyoin to finish his apology. “Another time.” Kakyoin looks back to his face, his lips still parted but his eyes dark with attention, and Jotaro meets his gaze. They look at each other for a moment before Jotaro can swallow himself into coherency.

“Next time,” he says, as firmly as he can. “I’ll take the day off too.”

Kakyoin’s cheeks tint a little darker, collecting color to deepen closer to the shade of his hair, but his smile comes easy, and when he tilts his head it’s to sketch what Jotaro sees clearly as a nod.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll let you know, next time.”

“Yeah,” Jotaro says. “Okay.” He hesitates for a minute, wondering if he ought to offer more of a farewell than that; but Kakyoin is still watching his face with a smile just touching at his lips, and Jotaro doesn’t know what to say to that. He lifts his hand instead, waving a goodbye as he turns to leave, and Kakyoin goes on watching him as Jotaro turns to make his retreat.

It’s not until he’s halfway back to the department that he remembers the weight of the handkerchief in the inside of his coat, but all he does is press his hand against it to feel the shape of it before he continues on to the office rather than turning back to return it.


	12. Dual

Kakyoin only takes the one day off from work; when Jotaro arrives the next morning he finds Kakyoin at his desk with his face illuminated more from the glow of his monitors than by the overhead light in the office. Jotaro doesn’t say anything, not even offering a response to the polite “Good morning” that Kakyoin volunteers, but he does duck his head into a nod of acknowledgment, and Kakyoin smiles like he understands the import of that. They have the office to themselves for almost a half-hour before Avdol arrives, and if neither of them say anything Jotaro is sure Kakyoin feels the calm radiating around them as clearly as he does himself.

Joseph lays hold of a new lead for them by the end of the week. He’s been frowning at the fragments of collected data with increasing irritation for several days now; the only advantage to his fraying temper is that it leaves him too restless to stay long enough in the office to properly get traction on arguing with Avdol or bickering with Polnareff. His success is clear as soon as he comes in the door beaming instead of scowling; Jotaro looks up from his monitors at once, and Kakyoin pushes away from his desk outright in anticipation of the announcement well before Joseph actually puts words to the new assignment.

He has good reason for his effusive cheer. It’s not just one lead they’re going out after but two; it seems Dio’s influence has grown sufficiently to allow his followers to form teams to effect even more disruption than what one could cause alone. Jotaro can’t imagine working with any of the die-hard fanatics they have brought in since Kakyoin and Polnareff’s addition to the team, but it’s an undeniable fact that this pair is highly effective. One has a lower Coefficient, enough to pass without tripping an alert on the minimal street scanners; it seems he serves as a block for the second, who remains unidentified as anything more than a vague shadow on the far side of his companion’s shoulders. It’s an absurd approach, requiring near-perfect familiarity with every scanner in the city as well as working together as closely as a pair of newlyweds; but it has proven highly effective, as demonstrated by Joseph’s difficulty in finding a lead for the chain of brutal incidents that has been laying itself down across the city without so much as a single scanner report. It’s only in days spent reviewing hours of footage that he recognized the recurring face; a feat that even Jotaro has to admit to admiring, even if he does so in the quiet of his own head rather than giving it voice. It’s not as if Joseph needs assistance in singing his praises; he’s happy enough to do that all on his own.

“It took me three all-nighters in a row to realize what I was seeing,” he says as they take a turn to the side street leading to the supposed hideout for the pair they’re searching for. “And decades of hands-on missions to boot. You young folks don’t have an eye for this kind of thing, you just lack the life experience to think the way these criminals do.”

“I thought we were supposed to avoid thinking that way,” Jotaro mumbles, but he’s speaking too softly for Joseph to hear him from where he’s keeping the lead at the front of the group.

“I’m sure that’s something else he’s learned how to deal with.” The voice is softer even than Jotaro’s tone; when he glances sideways Kakyoin is keeping pace alongside him, his head turned to keep watch on the windows of the buildings around them and one hand weighting to the top of his Dominator fixed at the back of his uniform in preparation for drawing it at speed. He looks ready, prepared to defend against an explosion of violence at a moment’s notice, but when Jotaro looks at him Kakyoin’s gaze flickers sideways to meet his own before the other’s mouth quirks up on a half-hidden smile. “He does have all those years of experience, after all.”

Jotaro doesn’t laugh at this but he doesn’t look away from Kakyoin’s face either. “The way he talks you’d think he doesn’t need backup at all.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Kakyoin says with airy calm. “He could take on both of this pair single-handedly and be done in time for lunch. It’s only for our own edification that he’s deigned to let us come with him.”

Jotaro’s mouth twitches towards a smile in spite of himself. “Generous of him.”

“I suppose it is,” Kakyoin allows, and turns his head to consider the shadows of the industrial warehouses looming around them. “This isn’t exactly where I’d choose to spend my time outside of the office, if I’m honest.”

Jotaro snorts. “It’s an acquired taste, I bet.”

“I’m sure.” Kakyoin’s lashes dip; his attention flickers back to Jotaro for a moment before he looks aside once more. “I suppose it speaks to my immaturity, that I’d take a quiet café over this.”

“Probably.” Jotaro looks back ahead of them but the other three are still moving forward with no sign of alarm. Joseph is in the lead, gesturing expansively as he declaims some new tale of past-tense exploits; behind him Polnareff and Avdol are walking shoulder-close, their heads ducked together as they murmur something too soft to hear. None of them appear concerned about their present situation, even as the warehouse they are bound for appears at the distant end of the long block they are walking down, and when Jotaro reaches for his Dominator to check its readiness it is more for the need of an excuse to hold his attention than out of real worry that something will be wrong. He draws it free of its holster so he can hold it before himself, testing the weight against his hands and waiting for the identification recognition to unlock the weapon while his thoughts are entirely elsewhere. “Mine too.” He grimaces as the Dominator beeps acceptance of his identity and tries to compose himself to greater coherency. “I’d like the café too.”

“Would you?” Kakyoin’s tone is perfectly level, as if Jotaro’s fumbling with his Dominator and over the rhythm of his speech has gone entirely unnoticed. Kakyoin is still watching the buildings around them when Jotaro looks to him; he looks entirely relaxed, as if in spite of his mild protests he is out for no more than a pleasant stroll through the looming weight of the buildings around them. “Perhaps we ought to find one the next time we have a lull in missions.”

“Oh,” Jotaro says. “Yeah.” He hesitates over continuing, wondering if that will be enough, but his breathing is coming too fast for him to think straight and he can’t gauge how clear his words are. He looks back to the buildings on his side of the path, frowning at the metal fronts without seeing anything at all. “We should.”

“Look sharp,” Joseph calls, his voice carrying loud enough to echo off the warehouse faces and make Jotaro cringe with the abrupt return to the present from the adrenaline-tense possibility of his mind. “Our dynamic duo is supposed to be right ahead.” He ducks his chin towards the shadows of a huge warehouse. The shape of it seems to hunch down in place, as if defending itself against the prying eyes of passersby; the darkness in the windows strips it of any utility it may have once served, making it look like nothing so much as the hideout for criminals it has become. Jotaro’s attention fixes on the building at once, distractions set aside for the necessity of focus on this moment; when Kakyoin steps forward to draw into position in front of him Jotaro lets him go, although he turns twice as much consideration to the shadows in the windows and the possibility of enemies lurking behind them.

Joseph brings them up in front of the enormous metal gate that leads into the warehouse. Jotaro thinks they make a stern appearance in the middle of the path before the doors; even with just five of them, their matched uniforms and tense expressions must be enough to give even hardened criminals pause. All of them have personal experience taking on individual opponents one-on-one; even with two at once, Jotaro is certain in their ability to handle the danger as a unified group.

“Alright,” Joseph says, and turns back to face the other four. His gaze, so often restless and distracted in the confines of the office, is laser-focused now, scanning over each of them in turn as if he means to identify them as certainly as their Dominators have. “We’ve got a team to deal with. It’ll be dark inside and hard to see, but that can work to our advantage just as much as theirs. We’ve got them outnumbered; remember that they work by splitting up attention between them. Don’t let either of them get you alone; even a hero is going to be taken out if he’s outnumbered. Understand?” He frowns at them, waiting until they’ve all nodded. “Good. Polnareff, Avdol, you’re with me as lead. Jotaro, you and Kakyoin give us backup. Any objections?” Joseph nods into the silent assent that follows this declaration. “Right. Let’s take these two on, then!” He turns to the door, lifting his Dominator as it unlatches and shifts into its most destructive form; when he fires a bolt the metal of the door before them collapses in on itself, disintegrating as if rusting to dust in the span of seconds. Polnareff surges forward, almost running to be the first into the dusty interior; Avdol follows close on his heels, with Joseph right behind them. Jotaro and Kakyoin follow in pace with each other, Kakyoin scanning to the left while Jotaro watches the right.

Distance forms between the groups immediately. Jotaro is squinting into the darkness, trying to pick apart what details he can find between his unassisted eyes and the glittering blue of his Dominator scan; Kakyoin is moving as carefully beside him, watching the ground in front of their feet as they climb to a metal walkway that arches over the ground floor of the empty warehouse. They are moving at a reasonable speed, Jotaro thinks; but the other group is ahead of them, and Polnareff is moving just as quickly as he did in coming through the doorway, his pace forcing Avdol and Joseph to straggle behind him as quickly as they can follow. They are farther ahead every time Jotaro glances forward to see how far they’ve travelled, until finally when he looks up they are lost to the darkness entirely.

Kakyoin brings his communicator to his mouth to speak clearly into the wristband. “Inspector Joestar, we’ve lost you. Are you still ahead of us?”

The speaker crackles to life at once. _“We’re here,”_ Joseph says, sounding frustrated enough that Jotaro can imagine the scowl on his face without seeing it. _“I’m trying to slow us down but--Polnareff!”_ His voice breaks off, his shout dropped halfway through, and Jotaro and Kakyoin are left with only themselves for company once more.

Jotaro sighs. “Idiot,” he says. “What’s he thinking?”

“Not much, I imagine,” Kakyoin says, his tone sharp with judgment, but he follows it with a sigh of his own that seems to take some of his temper with it. “He has a hard time holding back when he’s got his sights set on a target.”

Jotaro snorts as they start to move forward again at their same slow pace. “Grandpa should have set him to support instead.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to stay back either.” Kakyoin takes the lead up a short flight of stairs, pausing at the top to scan for possible threats before he steps aside to allow Jotaro the space to join him as they continue down the walkway. “Avdol’s the only one who can ever show him sense, and even that is even odds at best.”

Jotaro huffs by way of offering agreement to this as he follows Kakyoin through the shadows. Their voices seem loud in the open space, although they’re both speaking in undertones with the intention of softening the force of their words; Jotaro feels as though he can hear their echoes, as if even the rattle of their footsteps must be painting a target of them for anyone who might be looking for intruders. The only comfort is a minimal one, in knowing that the other group has the lead on them and will be drawing attention to themselves, but that tenses Jotaro’s shoulders with the awareness of how distant they are, of how little help they will be if the other three get too far ahead. If there is a fight before they have caught back up, if they break into open combat...and just like that, as immediately as if Jotaro’s concerns drew it into existence, a shout breaks the shadowy silence of the warehouse, a bellow of “ _Polnareff!_ ” so weighted with warning it takes Jotaro a moment to even recognize the speaker as Avdol.

There’s a shout of protest, high and piercing with the nasal edge of the voice, and Jotaro is moving without thought, throwing himself forward into a run along the rattling walkway without concern for how loud his footsteps may fall. He’s going all-out, holding nothing back from the length of his stride, but Kakyoin keeps pace with him, driven to a speed that must be all but a sprint to stay ahead of Jotaro’s own thudding footsteps. The walkway is shaking around them, jolted by their movement like a boat thrown by the crash of waves, and then there’s a sound so ear-splitting Jotaro thinks for a moment it’s an explosion, that the building itself must be giving way around them. He reaches out ahead of him, seizing at the sleeve of Kakyoin’s uniform jacket with some thought of tipping protection in over the other with the curve of his body, but even as his fingers tighten around Kakyoin’s arm he realizes that what he heard was a gunshot, the sound amplified past bearing by the cavernous walls around them. Kakyoin looks back to Jotaro, his face white with horror Jotaro can see clearly even in the darkness around them; they stare at each other for a moment, as still as if it was one of them that was shot. Everything is quiet, breathlessly still but for the ringing in Jotaro’s ears; then there’s a scream, high and rising to break and shatter on itself, and Kakyoin pulls free to bolt forward again with Jotaro as hot on his heels as the walkway allows.

They almost run into the other three. The walkway is hardly wide enough for two people to squeeze past each other, and then at no great speed; it’s only Kakyoin’s attention that lets him stop in time, and that so abruptly that Jotaro has to grab at the railing to stop himself from crashing into the other and knocking them all five down in a heap. It’s harder to see them than it should be: Jotaro is looking for standing figures, and there’s only one, Polnareff turned away to stare down the walkway in the opposite direction. Joseph is on his knees on the path, hunched forward so his dark uniform is lost to the shadows of the warehouse; and Avdol is sprawled flat across the walkway between the other two, his body still and unmoving even as Joseph braces the other’s head still in his lap.

Jotaro doesn’t know what to say. His heart is racing, his blood rushing so fast he feels sure his hands are trembling although his grip on the Dominator still in his hand is unwavering; his throat is too tight for speech, like silence might allow this all to still be some absurd dream that he can shake off with the morning light. It’s Kakyoin who speaks, and then only after drawing a breath that rattles ragged in the back of his throat.

“What happened?”

Joseph shakes his head. Jotaro has never seen his grandfather at a loss for words before. “We saw one of them,” he says finally, rasping over the words like he’s fighting for each one. “He was some ways away, down at the end of a walkway. Polnareff went after him, he had his Dominator trained on him. He was looking at the screen and didn’t see--” His words break off to silence once more. Jotaro has never known any quiet so profound with weight.

“Avdol grabbed him,” Joseph says. “Pulled him back out of the way and went down himself when the shot hit.”

There’s a pause. Jotaro is staring at Avdol lying still in Joseph’s lap; there’s a horrible weight to his body, a slackness to his arms and legs that speaks to his utter unconsciousness. If there’s blood he can’t see it for the dim lighting; the tang of iron in the air must be his imagination, the workings of a frantic panic, but telling himself that doesn’t save him from tasting it. Kakyoin’s arms are heavy at his sides; his head is bowed, his fingers tightening to squeeze against the handle of his Dominator until it creaks with the pressure.

“I didn’t ask him to do that.”

All three of them look up at once. Polnareff is still turned away, still has his back to the rest of them; his voice is loud and carrying in the echoing silence of the warehouse around them.

“I didn’t want his help,” he declares. The words are shrill, grating like fingernails scraping over metal. “I didn’t need him to save me. I was going to deal with that guy, if he hadn’t stopped me. It’s his own fault.”

“He was _protecting_ you.” That’s Kakyoin, speaking before Joseph or Jotaro can find words for themselves; his voice cracks like a whip, flaring hot with temper. “He took that bullet for you and that’s all you have to say?”

“Yeah,” Polnareff says. His head turns fractionally back, as if he means to look at them but leaves the motion incomplete. “What, am I supposed to be grateful?” His tone is rising, picking up volume and pitch as he speaks; but there’s something strained on it, Jotaro realizes, the same tension he can see, now, as Polnareff’s shoulders begin to shake badly enough to be visible. When the other rasps a breath there is the sound of emotion on it, the weight of a sob even before the Dominator in his hand drops from his slack grip to tumble away and clatter on the floor of the warehouse far below them.

“How dare he,” Polnareff gasps, his voice breaking over audible tears as he turns to look back at the figure lying so still and slack over Joseph’s lap. “How _dare_ he go and die for me!” His words crack in his throat, splitting the seams of anger into the truth of anguish, and he falls to his knees on the walkway, dropping as if all the strength has bled from his body as well. His head ducks forward, his breathing pulls into a sob, and for a long time all they can hear is the sound of Polnareff’s hiccuping crying tearing free from his chest as if mortally wounded himself.


	13. Support

It’s Joseph who finally breaks the silence that settles over the five of them. The storm of emotion that seized Polnareff ebbs at last, softened by the first rush of tears into something he can hiccup and struggle into some kind of control; a tense, waiting quiet falls over them in the absence of the other’s sobs, as their group hovers between high-strung alert and futile anticipation of some kind of action from Avdol’s still form. Joseph keeps his head bowed and his shoulders slumped forward as if he’s lost his hold entirely on where he is, as if grief and worry have overcome the tenacity that seemed to be such an irrepressible part of his psyche; but in the end it is Joseph who moves first, while Polnareff is slumped into unresponsive silence and Jotaro and Kakyoin are watching the shadows of the warehouse that has never seemed as threatening as it does now. In the quiet the  _ beep _ from Joseph’s communicator sounds loud and startling enough to pull Jotaro’s attention swinging around from the focus he’s turning on the space around them, and Joseph moves as quickly to lift his hand from bracing Avdol’s head so he can review the message that has come through.

“Good,” is what he says, speaking with as much crisp clarity on his words as if the last several minutes of panic and misery haven’t happened at all. “We have medical support on their way.”

“What’s the point?” Polnareff asks. His head is ducked forward, his words muffled from the way he’s pressing his forehead against a drawn-up knee. He sounds as defeated as he looks. “All the technology in the world isn’t going to bring back someone who’s dead.”

Kakyoin moves so quickly Jotaro barely sees the action at all, even though they’re crouching right next to each other. His hand comes out from the two-handed support he’s been giving the Dominator in his grip, his elbow swings up and back: it catches Polnareff full in the face, the force of the blow driving the other’s head snapping back with the impact. There’s a  _ crack _ of sound, a half-strangled yelp of pain from Polnareff, and then Kakyoin is returning his grip to his Dominator without so much as turning around to see the spill of blood he’s drawn from Polnareff’s nose.

“He’s not dead yet.” Kakyoin sounds as crisp as Joseph, as if he’s pulled his composure back around him as easily as shrugging on a uniform coat. “Do you think Inspector Joestar has been holding him like that for nothing?” Polnareff’s head turns to track the suggestion of Kakyoin’s words as the other goes on speaking. “Keeping him still is the best we could do while waiting for backup. You giving up would have killed him before now if you were on your own. You owe the Inspector your gratitude.”

“Thanks,” Polnareff says, his words half-muffled by the hand he’s pressing over his face but still clear as what they are.

“Kakyoin’s right,” Joseph says. He sounds slightly less steady than he did, but if he’s startled by Kakyoin’s brief flare of violence his surprise fades with the need for him to take charge. “The first thing we have to do for Avdol is get him out of here. They won’t be able to bring the medical team in here so we have to go to them.”

“You can’t do that alone,” Kakyoin observes.

Polnareff lifts the hand he doesn’t have pressing to his face at once. “I’ll go.”

“No,” all three of the others say at once.

“You’re too unsteady,” Joseph continues, speaking for all of them. “We’ll need to carry him out, any misstep could be fatal.” Polnareff lowers his hand, although his gaze doesn’t leave Avdol’s still form as Joseph looks to Kakyoin and Jotaro.

“I can do it,” Jotaro says.

Joseph grimaces with force enough that Jotaro can see it even in the poor lighting. “I don’t know,” he sighs. “You’re the best choice but that takes both Inspectors out of the game. If we all go--”

“I’m not leaving,” Polnareff says at once. “I want to see this fuck dead before the sun goes down.”

“Admirable,” Kakyoin deadpans. “You sound perfectly mentally stable, Polnareff.”

“Let Polnareff stay,” Jotaro says. “Kakyoin too. They can chase this guy down and deal with him while you and I get Avdol out.”

Joseph snorts an exhale, but it’s not quite a refusal and Jotaro can hear the possibility on the sound. “And if these two bolt?”

“They won’t,” Jotaro says at once. “I know Kakyoin. He’ll come back.” Kakyoin’s head turns, his gaze skimming over Jotaro’s face, but Jotaro keeps his attention fixed on Joseph, waiting for the surrender of a ducked head. There’s a pause of quiet, a moment of tension hanging in the air; and then Joseph heaves a sigh, and Jotaro’s shoulders ease even before he speaks.

“Fine,” he says. “Kakyoin, Polnareff, you two work on tracking this guy down. Either one of them is enough, don’t pursue past the first, understood?” They both nod, Kakyoin firmly and Polnareff with more delicacy as he wipes at the slowing trickle of blood from his nose, and Joseph turns back to Jotaro. “Jotaro, we’ll take Avdol back down and out of the warehouse. Hold him as steady as you can, we want to make this a smooth ride for him.”

“Wait,” Polnareff blurts. “Wait, wait, I don’t have a Dominator.” He peers over the edge of the walkway to squint at the floor below them as if thinking of returning back to search for it.

Jotaro extends his hand at once. “Here.” It takes Polnareff a moment to look up and reach to take the weight of the Dominator from his hand; Jotaro leaves him fumbling with the identification scanner as he turns away. Kakyoin stands, moving with enough grace that the walkway beneath them hardly shifts at all; his hand touches to Jotaro’s shoulder, his fingers pressing for a breath of contact so brief it could almost be accidental. Jotaro doesn’t look up; he just turns to face Avdol and Joseph kneeling at the other man’s head. “You ready?”

“When you are,” Joseph says. Jotaro takes up a position at Avdol’s feet, drawing the other’s knees up so he can get a secure hold beneath the weight of his legs; Joseph pulls Avdol’s arms to cross over his stomach in some measure of security before sliding first one and then the other arm below the line of the other’s shoulderblades. Avdol’s head is braced at the line of his elbows, held to what stability they can offer between them; when Joseph lifts his head to meet Jotaro’s steady gaze his mouth is set on focus. “Two, one, and--” and they both move to rise to their feet. Avdol’s dead weight is heavy enough to pull against Jotaro’s arms, but with Joseph’s aid they manage a secure enough hold to take their time in moving to retreat back down the walkway the way they came.

“Good luck,” Joseph calls back towards the other two remaining.

“Thank you,” Kakyoin replies. “We’ll wrap this up and be out in no time.” Jotaro can’t turn around to watch the other two moving away but he can feel the walkway beneath them shift with Kakyoin’s footfalls and then, after a moment, with the greater force of Polnareff’s steps. Jotaro keeps his attention fixed forward, locked on the task at hand of getting Avdol down to medical assistance as quickly as possible, but he goes on listening to the sound of Kakyoin and Polnareff moving away until their footsteps are lost to the echoing silence of the warehouse around them.

Jotaro loses all sense of time in their descent. His focus is held by the task at hand, a combination of strength and care that requires all his ability just to assist Joseph’s motion; the walkway seem to stretch forever, the stairs descend to a floor that must be endlessly far away. It’s startling when Jotaro’s foot hits cement instead of wire grating, shocking to look up and see the torn-open sheet of the metal door awaiting them, and then there is a rush of action as the waiting medical team surges forward through the doorway to take Avdol from Joseph and Jotaro’s support. They are borne out of the warehouse, carried to the illumination in the street outside as if on a tide that Jotaro has no chance to resist until Avdol has been settled in a transport and the first rush of motion has passed. He’s left blinking in the grey illumination of daylight, feeling dazed by the minimal sunlight that is blinding to his dark-adjusted eyes, until Joseph claps a hand to his shoulder to force his attention up to the older man.

“Good work,” Joseph declares, meeting Jotaro’s gaze with the full sincerity of his own. His own eyes are wet, but from the red ringing them Jotaro thinks it has less to do with the painful brightness of the light than the damp at his own lashes. “We’ll just have to hope it was enough.” He glances back towards the transport and the flurry of movement of the medical team working over it; his hand tightens at Jotaro’s shoulder, fixing hard as if seeking support. “They’ll take him straight back for treatment now.”

Jotaro gazes at his grandfather’s profile for a minute. His vision is clearing; it’s easy to see the flush of emotion around Joseph’s eyes, a simple thing to track the work of muscle at his jaw and tense against his lips, even without the work of those fingers at Jotaro’s shoulder. Jotaro takes in the whole of Joseph’s expression, the strain at his shoulders and the barely-repressed shake at his mouth, and then he lifts his hand to push away the hold at his shoulder.

“Go with them.” Joseph looks back to him, his eyes opening wide with surprise, but Jotaro is turning away to look back to the open door of the warehouse instead. “I’ll stay here to wait for the other two. Go see Avdol safely back to the Bureau.”

Joseph huffs an exhale. “I ought to stay,” he says. “You don’t have a weapon right now, and as the supervising Inspector--”

“He’s one of your Enforcers too, isn’t he?” Jotaro asks, and extends his hand. “Give me your Dominator. You’re too old to be of much use in a fight anyway, old man, you might as well let me handle this if things get out of hand.”

Joseph growls. “You…” he starts, but whatever protest he might have given goes unstated. He hesitates for a moment; then he moves at once, grumbling under his breath too softly for Jotaro to make sense of the words. Jotaro keeps watching the warehouse doors until the weight of Joseph’s Dominator slams against his palm, and then he only glances back to steady it between both hands as Joseph continues. “Someday you’re going to learn proper respect for the experience of your elders.”

Jotaro jerks his head to the side without looking up from the weapon. “I think they’re leaving.”

“Shit!” Joseph blurts, and moves to chase after the departing transport with a yell to summon their attention. Jotaro glances sideways to watch him make it safely onto the back of the vehicle before he turns himself back to the door of the warehouse, fixing himself to patience while he holds the Dominator steady in both hands and ready for whoever next comes through the torn-open door.

Everything is quiet for several minutes. If Jotaro were someone else he might wonder if his grandfather’s concerns were justified, if Kakyoin and Polnareff haven’t taken the opportunity to slip away and take their chances with the scanners that line all the major streets of the city; but he meant what he said, and the idea doesn’t linger long enough to worry him. They are tracking down a pair of experienced criminals in the dark, with only even odds left to them; Jotaro will give them as much time as they need to complete the mission left to the Enforcers to see through. So he waits, watching the door and feeling the weight of his Dominator heavy and familiar in his grip while the minutes stretch themselves long and taut with expectation.

The sound is shocking, when it comes. The gunshot is quieter outside, without the metal shell of the warehouse itself to reflect the sound back to Jotaro’s ears, but there’s more than one this time, the sounds pattering over each other until it’s impossible for Jotaro to keep count of how many shots have been fired. A shout follows, loud enough to echo itself out of all audibility; and then a wail, of fear or agonizing pain it is impossible to say. Jotaro’s skin prickles, the hair at the back of his neck rising in answer to the keen of that note at his ears; but silence follows the last scream, falling as heavy as if Jotaro’s ears have failed him outright. There is nothing at all, no shouts and no gunfire, nothing to indicate any further combat, until finally the rattle of metal announces the approach of someone coming towards the front of the warehouse.

Jotaro lifts the Dominator in his hands. The weight is steady, reassuring with its familiarity, but it’s not for the threat that he lifts it. The scanner is flickering, spilling its thin blue light into the shadows of the warehouse, and he’s glad to take whatever assistance he may in identification. A figure coalesces out of the shadows, darkness forming itself around a misshapen form, tall as a person but hunched forward and moving slow; Jotaro braces his feet, wondering if this is the unseen criminal responsible for so many of the crimes in the city. His Dominator unlatches, opening up to a new mode as the scanner stutters over the shape, as the Coefficient climbs to the sound of soft electronic beeping; and then Jotaro’s vision clears enough for him to make out the figure as two people instead of one, drawn close together so one can support the other, and his breath gusts free from his chest as his Dominator declares  _ “Enforcer Kakyoin Noriaki. Coefficient 178. Paralyzer Mode.” _

“Kakyoin,” Jotaro says, lowering the Dominator at once. It  _ is _ Kakyoin, moving with as much grace as he can under the present circumstances, which is one arm braced around Polnareff’s shoulders and his right foot angled to pull away from any attempt at weight-bearing. It’s difficult to determine the extent of his injuries; the entire front of his uniform is drenched in blood, the spray radiating out from his chest to spatter his sleeves and pants and even his face. Jotaro comes forward, striding across the distance as he holsters the Dominator at the back of his uniform and reaches to catch at Kakyoin’s free arm so he can support the other and free Polnareff from his burden. “What happened?”

“We got ‘im,” Polnareff says, grating the words into vicious satisfaction. “I’ve never seen someone with such a high Coefficient. The Dominator went right into Lethal Eliminator as soon as the scan touched him.”

Jotaro glances at Polnareff -- his shirt is clean but for the drip of red at his collar from his fast-swelling nose -- before looking back to Kakyoin. “Did he hit you?”

Kakyoin shakes his head. “No,” he says, sounding calm enough that it unravels some of the knot of fear in Jotaro’s chest. “It was almost impossible to see him but he was no better off than we were. Polnareff almost took a hit but got out of the way in time, although he fell into me.” He draws his knee up to indicate his hurt foot. “My foot got tangled up in the railing and wrenched the ankle. It’ll be fine once the swelling goes down.”

“You do look awful,” Polnareff says bluntly. “Like something exploded on you.”

“I imagine I do,” Kakyoin says in his same level tone. “Someone did.” He tightens his arm around Jotaro’s neck to clench his fingers to a fist of support at the other’s collar. “We got him pinned between us on a walkway. He was almost on top of me when Polnareff got the shot off.”

“You’re welcome,” Polnareff declares. “You weren’t going anywhere, with your foot like it is.”

“Yes,” Kakyoin says. “Which is also thanks to you, recall.”

Jotaro glances back at the warehouse behind them. “The other guy’s still in there?”

Polnareff shrugs. “Who knows,” he says. “We only ever saw the one. The other can pass the street scanners anyway, right? He hardly even counts as a criminal, I bet.”

“He counts,” Kakyoin says. “He’s complicit in these crimes, whether he was directly committing them or not. Left on his own he’ll just find someone else to work with.” He leans against the support of Jotaro’s shoulder as he struggles through a step. “He’s going to have to wait, though. Let’s get back to the Bureau and regroup for now.”

“Who gave you permission to order us around?” Polnareff asks. “Jotaro’s the Inspector, last time I checked.”

“Yeah,” Jotaro says. “You want to do something else?”

Polnareff shakes his head. “No,” he says, and sweeps an arm in a dramatic gesture. “Lead the way, Inspector.” Kakyoin snorts a laugh, which Polnareff frowns over, but he doesn’t protest further, and when Jotaro braces Kakyoin so they can start their slow motion forward it’s Polnareff who taps his communicator on so they can call for a transport to meet them on the way back. They make slow forward progress, with Polnareff outpacing them every handful of steps before he remembers to stop and let them catch up, but Jotaro doesn’t mind the delay, and Kakyoin doesn’t loosen his hold around Jotaro’s neck any more than Jotaro eases the brace of his arm at Kakyoin’s waist.


	14. Observation

It’s very quiet in the department the next several days. Jotaro stays the first night in the back room of the shared office, claiming the length of the couch to stretch out for a few hours of sleep to break up his late-night vigil, but he wakes from the discomfort rather than with the arrival of any of the other department members. Jotaro delays in the office for an hour after rising, watching the clock slide from the very early hours of the morning into a more reasonable time with no one there to share the space with him, before he gives up on working entirely and goes to the medical wing the next floor up. Avdol is there, of course, surrounded by a cluster of nurses and doctors until Jotaro can’t manage more than a glimpse of the other man, and Polnareff is lingering in a corner of Avdol’s room, hunched in over his knees and with his head ducked down as if he’s struggling to hold himself together through the weight of exhaustion bearing upon him. Kakyoin is in a room of his own, sitting up and reading a hard-copy book with apparent calm while his hurt foot is suspended some inches off the bed; Jotaro only glances at him before he continues down the hallway with his heart beating fast on a strange, aching hurt. 

He doesn’t stay in the office. With the Enforcers in the infirmary there isn’t much he and Joseph can do alone, and if Joseph is in the Bureau at all Jotaro hasn’t seen him. He returns home instead, checking back out at the front desk so he can catch the early-morning commuter transport in the opposite direction of the crowds and return to the quiet of his apartment, to lie awake in bed gazing at the ceiling until exhaustion overcomes stress and pulls him down to a nap that carries him all the way through the morning and into the groggy afternoon before he wakes again.

He’s more collected the next day. He sleeps better the second night, even with lingering concern for Avdol haunting his thoughts; but there is no call from his communicator to bear bad news, and after a day and a half Jotaro thinks silence is a fairly good sign. He takes his time with his morning shower, and lingers over breakfast as if there is something of real variety in the same meal he orders every morning, and by the time he’s pulling his uniform coat on so he can take himself in to work he feels alert enough to deserve the crisp lines of the jacket around his shoulders.

The office is empty again when he arrives. Avdol’s desk is untouched, of course -- Jotaro hardly expected anything else -- and Polnareff’s remains too much of a disaster to gauge if someone has lately made use of it, although Jotaro suspects it to be as abandoned as Avdol’s. But a monitor is flickering with power when Jotaro comes in the door, Kakyoin’s computer humming softly as the locked display shimmers with a screensaver, and there’s a jacket draped over the back of the chair presently as empty of its occupant as the rest of the office. Jotaro looks at that coat for a long minute, as he’s unbuttoning his own jacket and turning on his computer, and then he leaves his monitors to come to life unattended and leaves the office again without even pausing to take off his open coat.

Jotaro doesn’t know where Kakyoin has gone. He could be up in Joseph’s office, discussing the finer details of some of the data that the older man has been so intent on compiling; he could have paused by the cafeteria for a coffee, or wandered to one of the many vending machines scattered across each floor of the Bureau. But Jotaro has a suspicion of where to start, and enough certainty in his guess to let it take control of the direction of his feet. He climbs the stairs to the second level, keeping his head up as he emerges into the main hallway for the infirmary, and he’s rewarded as soon as he steps into the observation space for Avdol’s room by Kakyoin himself, standing in the dim room and gazing through the one-way mirror at their injured companion.

Kakyoin glances up as the door to the room comes open to see Jotaro’s arrival. He doesn’t look at all surprised by the other’s presence; his mouth flickers onto a smile, brief but warm enough to serve as welcome all the same before he looks back to the mirror. Jotaro lets the door swing shut behind him, holding the handle to ease the sound of it closing before he steps forward to stand alongside Kakyoin and gaze through the window into Avdol’s room. There are far fewer people within, this time; Jotaro only sees one nurse at the far corner of the room, and her attention is fixed on the display from the various machines currently hooked up to Avdol’s still form. The array of wires might be alarming, in other circumstances, but Avdol’s face is relaxed, his body easy with what looks more like sleep than unconsciousness, and that’s enough to loosen some of the knot of concern Jotaro has carried in his chest since he first saw Avdol fallen to such stillness on the metal walkway in the warehouse.

“He woke up.” Kakyoin is speaking softly, as if they might be heard by the two on the other side of the glass, but the room is so quiet that Jotaro can hear him clearly without having to strain to catch the words. “Early this morning, while most of us were asleep.” Jotaro turns his head to watch Kakyoin sideways; Kakyoin takes this invitation as it is meant, and continues speaking. “Polnareff was still there then. He had said he wouldn’t leave until Avdol opened his eyes again.”

Jotaro keeps watching Kakyoin. “So he left after?”

“He had to,” Kakyoin says. “He was hysterical, it took half the medical team to get him out the door. I think he’s back in his assigned room for now, until his Coefficient stabilizes enough for them to let him out again.”

“Huh.” Jotaro looks back through the glass before them at Avdol’s still form. “I guess it doesn’t make a difference to Avdol right now.”

Kakyoin shakes his head. “He smiled to see Polnareff but they put him back under as soon as they confirmed he didn’t have any major memory loss. The doctors say the second bullet only skimmed against his forehead, which is the only reason he survived at all, but the first shot took him in the back and they have a lot of work to do to get him back on his feet.”

“He’ll be okay,” Jotaro says, and Kakyoin ducks his head into a nod.

“They say he’ll be fine,” he says. “He should be back in the office before the end of the month and cleared for field duty some time after that, but it’s just a matter of recovery from here on out.”

“Oh.” Jotaro gazes through the glass at Avdol. It’s strange to see him unconscious, without the steady force of his gaze fixing on them or the stability of his shoulders as a guide; the bandage wrapped around the wound at his forehead is clean white, but the thought of the injury beneath it still hunches tension into Jotaro’s shoulders. It would have been so easy to lose their team member right there, in the confusion of a fight that lasted less than a minute; that’s the extent of the warning they could have before losing one of the coworkers that Jotaro feels closer to than any of the acquaintances he called friends in high school. He stares at the glass, watching Avdol through the faint reflection of himself and Kakyoin standing side-by-side in the observation room, and he feels more keenly aware of their good fortune in being here than he ever has before. He can’t put voice to his appreciation, at least not while keeping his tone level and free from the burden of emotion rising in his chest, so he coughs instead, clearing his throat roughly before he tips his head to look at Kakyoin alongside him. “Are you cleared for work too?”

“Hm?” Kakyoin lifts his head to look up at Jotaro, gazing confusion for a moment before he visibly recalls his own injury from the days prior. “Oh. Yes, I’m fine.” He leans forward to catch at the fabric of his pant leg so he can draw up the hem by a few inches and show the white of a bandage wrapped around his ankle. “The swelling went down as soon as they treated me and I could walk on it by the end of the day yesterday.” He drops his pant leg and straightens again. “I’ll be restricted to the office for a few days, but as soon as the bruising is gone I’ll be back in the field with you.”

“Good,” Jotaro says. Kakyoin glances at him but doesn’t say anything; Jotaro clears his throat and looks back towards Avdol. “We can’t do much with all our Enforcers out of commission.”

“That’s true,” Kakyoin allows. “I’d suggest you take Polnareff, but I don’t know how focused he’ll be while Avdol is in here. I think he’ll want to spend most of his time hovering as soon as they let him out of his room again.” Jotaro snorts and Kakyoin flickers a smile at him before they return to watching the unchanging scene in the hospital room. They’re standing closer than Jotaro had realized; drawn together in front of Avdol’s bed, they’re almost close enough for their sleeves to brush. If Jotaro didn’t have his hands in his pockets he thinks he might be skimming the back of Kakyoin’s fingers with his own, just standing still as they are. For a moment he feels the possibility of it, the darkness of the space around them and the relative privacy afforded by the glass and the illumination on the far side of it; there’s no one here but Kakyoin to see him slide his hand out of his pocket, no one but Kakyoin to see if he reaches to catch his fingers against the elegant curve of the other’s hand. They could clasp their hands together, fingers bracing close in something that could pretend at comfort however fast Jotaro’s heart is pounding with the thought of it; and then Avdol stirs, his head turning against the thin pillow supporting his neck, and Jotaro comes back to himself in a rush as Kakyoin draws an inhale with the sound of regret on it.

“I should probably get back to the office,” he says. “I’m supposed to be on the clock for work all morning and even with no field assignments I’m sure your grandfather would appreciate an extra pair of eyes on his data collecting.” Kakyoin turns towards Jotaro, glancing up at the other as he lifts his hand to push the heavy curl of his hair back from his face. “Do you want to stay here a little longer?”

Jotaro shakes his head. “He’s asleep. It’s not like he’ll care if I’m here or not.”

When Kakyoin smiles the curve of it glows bright even in the wan lighting of the room around them. “That’s true,” he allows. “I imagine he’d approve of us being productive in his absence in any case.”

“Yeah.” Jotaro follows Kakyoin through the door and out into the brighter illumination of the hallway. When Kakyoin slows his pace slightly Jotaro falls into step at his side while keeping his eyes on the hallway instead of the companion at his side. There’s another pause of silence before Jotaro draws a breath to speak. “Was that the same book you were reading in the cafeteria on your day off?”

Kakyoin’s head lifts to look up at Jotaro. “Pardon?”

“Yesterday.” Jotaro jerks his head back towards the medical wing they are rapidly leaving behind them. “When you were being treated. I went past your room after Avdol’s.”

“Oh.” Kakyoin ducks his head forward; with his hair curtaining his face Jotaro dares to risk a glance at the other while Kakyoin isn’t looking at him. “No, it’s a different book by the same author. I really appreciate their work, it’s quite immersive.” They continue in silence for another few steps before Kakyoin goes on. “You could have come in, if you wanted to say hello.”

Jotaro looks away from the sweep of the other’s hair, feeling his face heat. “You were reading,” he says. “I didn’t want to intrude.”

Kakyoin laughs. “That was very sweet of you,” he says. “Though you shouldn’t have worried. I’m always happy to see you, Jotaro.”

Jotaro has no idea at all how to respond to that. He contents himself with an “Oh” that comes out so rough with self-consciousness he’s afraid it sounds more angry than surprised, but the quiet that follows is calm instead of tense, and when Jotaro glances at Kakyoin again the other is smiling down the hallway as if lingering over some private pleasure. Jotaro watches him for a moment, appreciating the ease of his smile and the color at his cheeks before he looks away again, fixing his gaze down the hall as he lets the peace around the two of them speak on his behalf.


	15. Brief

“Listen up,” Joseph says, speaking loudly enough that his voice echoes off the walls of the office. “I need everyone’s attention on this.” There’s a pause while he waits for Polnareff to finish drinking the last of the coffee in the cup he’s been fussing with all morning; it’s only after Polnareff has emerged from the lip of the ceramic and set it aside that Joseph clears his throat with deliberate patience and turns back to look at the rest of the office.

“You all know we’ve been getting new information over the last few weeks,” he says. “We have Caesar to thank for giving us another department’s worth of investigators to help track down answers to our most pressing questions while we came back up to speed, and the effort’s paid off.” He reaches for the band of the communicator wrapped around his wrist to tab it on without looking down at the controls; a flickering holograph appears in front of him, an image Jotaro has become too familiar with over the last months of futile effort.

“Dio,” Joseph growls, his voice rough with the frustration he always shows on this subject. Avdol shifts to rise from his chair so he can reach for the control panel for the lights and dim them; in the shadows that fall the details of the holograph stand out the more clearly, as if the criminal in question is gaining reality while the rest of them fade into the dark. “A target I’ve given the last decade of my life to hunting down.” He sweeps his hand over the communicator again; the image draws wider, expanding to fill the whole middle aisle of the office with its larger-than-life presence. Jotaro grimaces and lifts a hand to ruffle through his hair to shed some of the creeping discomfort that always seems to follow too much consideration of the handsome, haughty face of Joseph’s eternal opponent, but if Joseph shares any of his discomfort there is no sign of it in the tone of his voice or the steady rhythm of his speech spilling to make a performance of what should be a basic recitation of facts. “A ghost who has eluded me at every turn, has taken out my men and stymied the full force of the Sibyl System for years.

“But no longer.” Joseph lifts his hand over his communicator again, sweeping his fingers through a gesture of dismissal, and the image vanishes, swept aside as quickly as it disintegrates into no more than points of light. “This is to be the last year Dio holds sway over this city.” He draws his finger across the control for the display from his wrist and a new image lifts into view, the shape of a building looming heavy as a stormcloud from amidst the normalcy of its surroundings. Jotaro’s chest tightens on understanding, his gaze lifts to Joseph’s face to seek out confirmation of this possibility too great for him to even properly consider, too much for it to conceivably be what Joseph is offering to them; but Joseph is grinning at the holograph in front of him, his expression vicious with such satisfaction that Jotaro feels the weight of certainty even before his grandfather goes on speaking.

“This is it,” Joseph declares, holding his hand up so the image hangs over all of them, displayed for clear view in the shadows of the office. “Dio’s lair. We’ve tracked him to ground at last, and now we put an end to his atrocities.”

There’s a beat of silence to answer this ringing proclamation. Then, from Polnareff’s desk:

“You’re _kidding_ ,” as the man in question lurches to his feet to lean in and stare at the image. “That’s it? That’s his hideout?”

“How are you certain?” Kakyoin puts in. He sounds calm, careful like he’s turning over the range of possibilities before them, but when Jotaro looks sideways at him Kakyoin is leaning in against his desk too, his whole body canted forward to tip him the nearer to the image flickering over Joseph’s wrist. “He’s there, right now? Dio himself?”

Joseph ducks his head. “That’s thanks to Caesar,” he declares. “He’s had an entire department looking for clues in old records and reviewing the footage we could collect of previous combat. They were able to get a match on our last opponent, the one who got away from the two of you,” with a duck of his chin towards Kakyoin and Polnareff, “and followed his trail through the city for several weeks. He spends more time in hotels than anywhere else, it seems, but of the two locations he visited more than once one was a month-to-month single apartment paid for under a woman’s name rather than his own, and the other was here.” Joseph raises an eyebrow as he looks at the rest of them. “I can’t think of any reason for a demonstrated womanizer to spend his time in a dusty old office building, can you?”

“If you can’t none of us will,” Jotaro mumbles. That gets him a sharp look from Joseph, and a huff of a laugh from Kakyoin, but Avdol is the one who cuts in before Joseph can gain traction for a rebuttal.

“This is incredible,” Avdol says, speaking slowly as if he’s weighing the shape of his words before giving them voice. “After all this time, we’ve finally made it.”

“Yes,” Joseph says, turning to beam at Avdol. “I knew you’d understand. The rest of you may be new, but this is the culmination of _years_ of effort.”

“Indeed,” Avdol says. “I admit I am almost surprised. There were times when it seemed we might never achieve our goal in this.”

Joseph laughs with unabashed cheer. “That’s where you’re mistaken, old friend,” he says, turning to beam at Avdol as he does so. The movement brings the holograph projection from his communicator swinging around as well, and Polnareff hisses protest as he strides around the edge of his desk so he can pull Joseph’s wrist back around and resume his frowning attention to the image displayed. Joseph doesn’t deign to notice being manhandled; he’s occupied in grinning at Avdol as if their present situation is a feat of his own single-handed ability. “Joseph Joestar never gives up after he takes on a case. Even if it takes half my life, once I set my sights on someone they never get away!”

“When are we going here?” Polnareff cuts in, gesturing so his pointing finger interrupts the flicker of the holograph he’s frowning at. “Is this in the city limits?”

Joseph finally seems to notice the angle at which Polnareff is pulling at his arm and grimaces as he wrests himself free of the other’s hold. “It is,” he says. “It’s nearly over the boundary with the next city, so we’ll need to be careful to make sure we stay within our jurisdiction. Unless this Dio fellow has figured out the power of flight, though, we should be fine with a barricade around the bottom floor.” Joseph chuckles at his own joke as he shrinks down the holograph and taps at his communicator; after a moment there’s a pattern of _beep_ s from around the office. Jotaro looks down to his own wristband, where a new file has just been received; when he opens it up it contains the image Joseph is brandishing along with the location data to fix it on Jotaro’s GPS.

“We’ll need to move quickly,” Joseph declares as Jotaro swipes through the location information, fixing the building in question in place against his mental map of the city around them. “Dio has a habit of moving frequently, which is why he’s been such a pain to track down for so long. This seems to be a relatively new location for him, but we don’t want to count on anything. The sooner we can get there, the better.”

A flicker of blue light pulls Jotaro’s attention to Kakyoin, still leaning at the edge of his desk. He’s considering the holograph himself; a swipe of his fingers removes the exterior image to reduce it to the structural architecture of the building beneath. The light of the image casts illumination on his face from the dim of the shadows forming around them; in the washed-out glow his hair looks strangely pale, like the crimson color of it has drained to a white as pale as Polnareff’s shock of silver hair. Jotaro watches the shift of Kakyoin’s lashes as he considers the building, follows the set of his mouth on a frown and the crease that fixes between his brows before he speaks. “When do you intend to make our attack?”

“Right away,” Joseph says. “I received this information maybe five minutes ago. I’ll give you all an hour to review it and then we’re heading out. I don’t want to wait even a day for this.”

Avdol hums uncertainty in the back of his throat. “Are you certain?” he asks, his tone careful enough that the question is sincere instead of the rebellion it might be from someone else. “It is past noon already. By the time we arrive at the border of the city the sun will be going down. A fight in the dark would be ill-advised, if I may say so.”

“We have no other choice,” Joseph declares. “I’m not going to sit and wait for the morning only to have Dio slip through my fingers again. We go tonight, and I’m taking all of you Enforcers with me.”

“All?” Polnareff exclaims, his voice breaking to the sudden height of shock. “You mean Kakyoin and me, right? Avdol’s barely out of the hospital, you can’t mean to take him back out into combat so soon.”

Avdol rumbles a sound something between a laugh and a growl. “I’ll thank you not to put me back in my sickbed when I am well free of it,” he intones. “I have been released with a clean bill of health. Unless you have become a doctor in the few weeks of my absence, I have no intention of missing out on the culmination of Inspector Joestar and I’s efforts due to your needless concern.”

“It’s not needless,” Polnareff protests. “You almost died, we were all there. What if something happens to you again?”

“Then you will continue on,” Avdol tells him with unflinching clarity. “As will I. We all must consider our own survival our number one priority or none of us will make it out of this fight alive.”

“Avdol’s right,” Joseph cuts in while Polnareff is still drawing breath to muster a rebuttal. “We’re all going in with one shared goal, and we’re going to stay focused on that. Take my word for it, there’s no space for heroics against Dio.” Avdol nods satisfaction and Joseph continues. “And I’m taking all three of you. You’ve all dealt with Dio before, you have some experience with him. That may be the key to letting us gain the upper hand in this conflict.”

Jotaro frowns. “What about me?”

Joseph draws a breath and turns to look back at him. The gazes of everyone else follow to fix Jotaro at the center of the room’s attention, but Jotaro goes on frowning at his grandfather, his shoulders hunched forward on suspicion at the words that are going unstated. Joseph looks at him for a moment before he draws himself up to speak.

“You are a superb Inspector,” he declares. “Your insight into investigations is remarkable and your quick reflexes have proven you invaluable in combat. You will be a great help in this undertaking, should you choose--”

Jotaro hisses a breath past his teeth. “I do.”

Joseph pauses to frown at Jotaro. “I’m not going to order you to come on this mission,” he says deliberately. “It may be deadly. It will certainly prove dangerous. If you’d rather stay back and provide us with in-office backup…”

“You said you needed everyone’s support,” Jotaro says. “I’m coming with you.”

Joseph draws a deep breath, filling his lungs entirely before he heaves a gusty sigh. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he says, and then, abruptly, flashes a grin and a wink. “Tell Holly I tried to talk you out of it though, alright?”

Jotaro slumps back in his chair and rolls his eyes. “Good grief.”

“In fact on second thought don’t mention it to her at all,” Joseph continues. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and we can give her the stories of our adventures after we’ve brought you home safe and sound.” He nods firmly, as if having decided something of any real import to anyone but himself, before he turns back to survey the office. “We’ll be leaving soon. I’ll go to report the plan to Caesar and we can depart as soon as I return.” He lifts his hand to wave and strides forwards towards the door. Avdol reaches for the lights to bring them back up, and before his hand has left the sensor Polnareff is coming around to lean in over the other’s desk and begin an interrogation as to Avdol’s relative health and well-being. Avdol takes this with perfect calm, from what Jotaro can see of the other man’s easy recline and spreading smile, but Kakyoin is pushing back from his desk to urge his chair closer to Jotaro’s and that demands far more of Jotaro’s attention than the murmured not-quite-fight on the other side of the room.

Kakyoin comes in close to the edge of Jotaro’s desk before leaning in to rest an elbow against the corner, as easily as if he has every right to adopt Jotaro’s personal space as his own. He still has the architectural plans for the building displayed above his communicator; he goes on considering them, idly sliding the view to shift his perspective as he takes a breath to speak with deliberate casualness. “So we won’t be breaking up the team just yet, it seems.”

“No,” Jotaro says. Kakyoin’s hair has regained its usual vivid color with the return of overhead illumination; the wave of it is falling in front of his face so Jotaro can’t get a good look at the other’s expression without leaning in or reaching out to push the long curl aside. Jotaro’s fingers tighten against the edge of his desk at the thought, and he draws them back so he can let them hang heavy in his lap instead. “Not because of me, anyway.”

Kakyoin huffs a laugh. “Nor I,” he says. “Though I suppose it means less when I’m not given a choice to opt out.” Jotaro stays quiet, watching Kakyoin more than the idle motion of his fingers, and Kakyoin tilts his head to smile at Jotaro as if the other had spoken aloud.

“Not that I would even if I had it,” he says. “This is my chance to prove myself. I already lost to Dio once, I’m not going to do it again.” He collapses the holograph back with a sweep of his hand and pushes to sit up from his forward lean over the edge of the table, lifting his chin to shake his hair back from his face.

“What do you say?” he asks, turning in to face Jotaro with the full force of his attention. “Shall we go take this guy out?”

Jotaro grunts a note of affirmation. “Or bring him in for justice.”

Kakyoin laughs. “Sounds like a deal,” he says, and lifts his hand to offer to Jotaro before him. Jotaro doesn’t look down to the curve of Kakyoin’s fingers extended towards his own; he just reaches out to press his palm close to the other’s and clasp his hold around Kakyoin’s. Kakyoin’s smile goes wider, illuminating his eyes to brilliance as he beams at Jotaro. “There’s no one else I’d rather have at my back than you.”

Jotaro’s face warms, his cheeks heating until he thinks he might be in danger of the giveaway of a blush. He can’t trust his voice to work without rasping over self-consciousness; in the end the best he can manage is to duck his head and mumble a “Yeah,” that seems hardly sufficient to cover the gratitude and affection knotting tight in his throat. But Kakyoin’s smile doesn’t fade, his hold doesn’t go slack, and Jotaro feels like he might have made himself understood anyway.


	16. Still

Dio’s hideout is even darker in person than it looked in the holograph.

It’s a huge building, the top of it soaring high enough to threaten even the skyscrapers around it for presence. The offices catch the light, their multitude of windows glittering as if to speak to the money spent to outfit them with the luxury of individual rooms with their own independent views on the city below; the space Dio has made his home dominates with the opposite, with the lack of illumination to cast a glimpse at what may lie within. There is no visual indication of the interior architecture, none of the spreading neon signs that declare the purpose or the name of the owner as for the other spaces around them; just the building itself, heavy walls and unmarked front rising towards the sky as if it intends to blot out what illumination the sinking sun can grant to them. There is still some light, enough for Jotaro to clearly see the details around them without straining, but it has the dimmed-gold quality of a sunset, and Jotaro can feel awareness of the oncoming night bearing down against his shoulders like a countdown forcing them forward.

He’s not the only one. Polnareff is bouncing on the balls of his feet, evidently struggling even to hold still under the present circumstances, and Joseph is a good stride ahead, as if pulling taut against some unseen leash tethering him to the support provided by the rest. Avdol has his hands tucked into his pockets and his shoulders eased into the seeming of relaxation, but his eyes are lingering on Polnareff and his mouth is set on more tension than the apparent comfort in his pose would allow. Kakyoin is offering the greatest composure, Jotaro thinks as he sneaks a glance at the man standing close alongside him; but even Kakyoin’s chin is lifted, his gaze cast up with such intensity he looks like he is seeking out the proof of Dio’s presence right through the barrier of the walls before them. Jotaro wonders if Kakyoin feels the opportunity for revenge in this, if he sees the chance to gain back some measure of the freedom Dio stole from him when he deliberately spiked his Coefficient; but Kakyoin doesn’t speak, and Jotaro doesn’t have the words to ask, and so it is Joseph who draws breath to break the tense silence of anticipation around them.

“You all know the plan,” he says, speaking directly instead of with his more usual declamatory style. Jotaro thinks the words have more weight for how simply Joseph says them, speaking before he has even turned to face the rest of them. “We look out for ourselves in there. Offer support if you can but make the objective decision if you have to.” He waits until they have all nodded, with more or less grace in their agreement, before he turns to Avdol. “You have your mission.”

“I do,” Avdol says with deliberate care. “We will come in as the second shift, in the event something happens to the first.”

“We’re going to miss out on all the fun,” Polnareff protests. “Kakyoin’s going to shoot Dio and we won’t even get a chance to help.”

“We should hope it is that easy,” Joseph says sharply. “Dio hasn’t been recognized by the System before. If that hasn’t changed…” He leaves the sentence unfinished but Jotaro can hear the conclusion of it clearly in his own head, an acknowledgment of the danger into which he and Kakyoin will be walking.

“We’ll handle it,” he says. “If the Dominator doesn’t work we’ll take him out by force.”

“Leave that to Kakyoin,” Joseph says sharply, as if he hasn’t repeated this multiple times. “If your Coefficient spikes--”

“It won’t,” Jotaro says. “You worry too much, old man.” He looks to Kakyoin next to him as the most efficient means of breaking off his grandfather’s unnecessary warnings. “Kakyoin, you ready?”

Kakyoin blinks, visibly coming back to the present from whatever thoughts gripped him as he stared up at the front of the building before them. “Yes.” He shakes his head to clear it, but when he raises his chin to meet Jotaro’s gaze his attention is steady enough to chase away any concerns about his focus. “I’m ready.”

Joseph heaves a sigh. “Alright,” he says, and lifts a hand to gesture towards the door of the building. “You have ten minutes before we come in after you. Keep your communicators on so we can track your position and come after you if needed.” His usual bluff cheer is absent from his expression; with his features set on the intensity of his focus, Jotaro can see the proof of the star Inspector his grandfather always claims he used to be in the older man’s face. Joseph lifts his hand in front of him and taps against his communicator; there’s a chorus of answering _beep_ s from the rest of their wrists as the time-synced countdown flashes onto their displays. Joseph lifts his head to meet Jotaro’s gaze as he lowers his hand to his side again. “Good luck.”

Jotaro ducks his head into a nod of acknowledgment rather than speaking. Kakyoin is waiting for him to look back; as soon as he does so Kakyoin takes the lead, striding forward towards the doors to the building before them with a pace that shows none of the nerves he must be feeling. Jotaro can feel his own adrenaline thrumming in his chest and fluttering like wings in the back of his throat, but his motion is as steady as Kakyoin’s, his body obedient to his demands of it more than to the nerves tense along his spine and crackling his attention to crystalline focus. Kakyoin draws up to the door, drawing his Dominator free of his holster to brace alongside him as he reaches to try the handle; when it turns without resistance he looks back to make eye contact with Jotaro and nod before he looks back and opens the door with one fluid, unhesitating action.

It’s brighter inside than Jotaro expected it to be. With the front of the building seeming to spill darkness enough to envelop the whole of the street within its shadow, he thought the interior would be just as oppressively dim. But there is lighting coming from somewhere, if far enough away that he can’t immediately locate the direction, and it’s enough to illuminate the space beyond the door through which they just passed as an expansive and completely empty entrance hall. There is a heavy set of stairs along one side, reaching up towards what must be a second floor some distance above the first; other than the stairs themselves and the distance of the floor before them, there is nothing and nobody around them at all.

Kakyoin frowns as he considers the space. “Something’s wrong.” Jotaro nods without speaking to disturb the silence. The quiet seems to have weight of its own enough to make the sound of speech feel like an act of aggression; he doesn’t feel the desire to dispel it by so much as a word of agreement. Still, he feels what Kakyoin is talking about, and not just in the quiet. It’s oppressive inside, even with the illumination that is chasing away the worst of the shadows from the space around them; the silence feels menacing, the emptiness of the entryway made to feel like a trap instead of a possibility. Kakyoin looks back to Jotaro to meet the other’s eyes, and it’s Jotaro who shrugs and tips his head to gesture them farther inside. Kakyoin flickers a smile in answer before he nods and steps forward to lead the way out of the entryway and in towards the center of the floor. Jotaro follows, cutting his way diagonally instead to aim for the stairs that appear their only means of advance while he takes in their surroundings and tries to figure out what’s so uncanny about the space.

“Jotaro.” Kakyoin’s voice is sharp, cutting through the weight of silence around them as if it carried the razor-edge of a knife; Jotaro turns at once to look back at the other, his steps drawing to a halt as he reaches for the Dominator holstered at his belt in expectation. But Kakyoin isn’t looking up the stairs or out at the far side of the room; he’s gazing behind Jotaro, looking back along their path to the doorway with alarmed realization clear on his face. “I know what’s wrong.”

Jotaro realizes at once. He doesn’t have to turn to look; it’s enough to see where Kakyoin is gazing, to have the clarity of the other’s thoughts displayed in the look in his eyes and the soft of realization at his mouth. “The dust,” he says. “No one’s come across this floor for weeks.”

“So what--” Kakyoin says, and that’s all Jotaro hears before a _crack_ resounds through the room, so loud that he can feel it vibrate along his spine like it’s trying to ground itself out against his teeth. Kakyoin flinches, lifting his free hand to press over his ear, but Jotaro reaches out instead, extending a hand over the distance between himself and Kakyoin as he takes a step forward into the space their paths put between them.

“ _Kakyoin_ ,” he says, but his voice is lost to another snapping sound, a sharp noise followed immediately by a dull, bone-deep groaning that rattles through Jotaro’s body and sets his teeth tight together. He can feel the sound in his feet, can feel the strain of it thrumming up his legs; but it’s not just the sound, it’s the floor itself giving way beneath him. The dust coating the surface is shaking, lifted to haze in the air by the tremors running through what must be supports for the boards underfoot, and Jotaro can feel those giving way as what was steady footing goes soft beneath the weight of his body. He can see the boards bending, separating from each other as first one and then another snaps, and then a hand seizes around his wrist and Jotaro looks up to see Kakyoin in front of him, his hand clasping tight at Jotaro’s own as the floor beneath them quakes and bends. Jotaro wonders if Kakyoin can bear his weight if he falls, if he will be able to do anything other than wrench the other’s arm out of its socket before dragging Kakyoin down with him, but when the floor gives way it’s at once, support dropping from beneath Jotaro’s feet only a moment before Kakyoin stumbles and topples forward at the loss of his own footing as well. They fall together, dropping from the ground floor down into whatever space exists beneath, and in the breath-stealing adrenaline of free-fall Jotaro doesn’t have space to think about the grip of his fingers around Kakyoin’s wrist.

They land hard, after a far shorter drop than Jotaro was braced for. He has his knees bent to cushion some of the impact of landing but the force still jolts through him to drop him heavily forward, collapsing to catch himself on his outflung hand as his legs throb protest for the impact they just took. Kakyoin does him one better, or at least recovers faster; he’s on his feet by the time Jotaro lifts his head to take stock of their surroundings, and any pain he must be feeling in the length of his legs shows nowhere on the steady focus of his gaze out into the shadows around them. He has his Dominator up and trained on the dust-filled air in front of him; his other hand is still in Jotaro’s hold instead of steadying the weapon. Jotaro lets him go, unclasping his hold with more reluctance than he ought to feel in the moment; Kakyoin holds onto him for a split-second longer, enough time to clench his grip to press warmth to a band around Jotaro’s wrist before he lifts his other hand to steady his weapon.

“We know you’re in there,” he declares, his voice ringing clear in spite of the dust Jotaro can feel thick on his tongue and rasping in his throat. Jotaro braces himself at the footing beneath them -- stone, this time, far less likely to collapse -- as he pushes himself up so he can straighten and stand beside Kakyoin. He reaches for his holster, ready to draw his own weapon and double the threat they present; but his Dominator is gone, lost somewhere in their fall, and in the dust-filled air it’s impossible to search for it. Jotaro lets the regret go as soon as he feels a flicker of it -- there’s no time to linger in what-ifs at present -- and turns back to fix his attention out into the same dusty air at which Kakyoin is aiming his weapon. Kakyoin glances at him, the barest admission of acknowledgment, before he turns back to fix the whole of his attention in front of them. “Coming out will make this easier.”

The laugh seems to spill from the walls around them, echoing as if it’s coming from the rubble of the ceiling overhead directly. “Is that the best you have to offer?” The voice is slightly nasal and higher than Jotaro expected; it lacks the implicit threat he has always felt in Joseph’s photograph of Dio, however taunting the words are in themselves. “There’s no fun in that. Don’t you want to have the enjoyment of a good competition at least?”

Kakyoin frowns and tips his head to the side as if he’s focusing in on the sound of the voice resonating around them. Jotaro can’t see anyone in the dust, however hard he stares, so he looks to Kakyoin instead, looking for information from the other’s expression since their surroundings are proving so unhelpful. “Is it him?”

Kakyoin shakes his head. “No,” he says, speaking in a match for the soft undertone Jotaro adopted. “I don’t--”

“I am not Dio-sama,” the voice says, cutting clearly over the murmured conversation Jotaro and Kakyoin were having. “I am afraid he does not bother himself with greeting guests at the door. That task falls to me, his butler. Terence D’Arby, at your service.”

“You’re not being very welcoming right now,” Jotaro says in his normal tone, since it seems the other will hear him in any case.

“I agree,” Kakyoin says. “You’re falling well short of hospitality at the moment.”

“I do apologize,” D’Arby says. “I simply endeavor to keep track of what guests the great Dio-sama may be receiving in his home, and to offer what minor amusements I may provide to them in his absence.”

“So he’s not here?” Jotaro asks.

“Let’s save business for later,” D’Arby says, his voice dropping low enough that it threatens the edge of a purr in the back of his throat. “We should start with some light entertainment, don’t you think?”

“What kind of entertainment?” Kakyoin calls out into the dust.

“A competition,” D’Arby’s voice declares. “I live for competition, you see. I’d be happy to take you on in a variety of fields.” There is a pause, just barely long enough to create the illusion of deliberate consideration. “Marksmanship, if you like.”

Kakyoin snorts. “With you hidden in the dust like you are?” he asks. “Not a very fair competition, don’t you think?”

“I’ll give you first shot.” A figure shifts in the dust; Jotaro turns to look as quickly as Kakyoin swings the end of the Dominator around to track it. “Completely unmolested by any attack from me. I’ll even hold still for you.”

Jotaro grunts in the back of his throat. “It’s a trap.”

“I know,” Kakyoin says softly. “It’s still a chance.” He squints into the dust and trains his Dominator on the shadowy figure they both saw move. “You won’t shoot until after me?”

The figure lifts a hand. “On my word as a gentleman.”

“Excellent,” Kakyoin says, and then he pivots ninety degrees and fires at once into the cloud of dust. The beam of the Dominator cuts through the haze, slicing like a knife through the dust around them; and there is a burst of that laughter again, loud to echo off the space around them.

“Bravo!” Applause rings out, as loud as if they’re surrounded by an audience of dozens instead of just one. “You figured out the mirror.”

Kakyoin blinks, the Dominator in his hands lowering as he frowns. “How is he--” and then there’s an explosion of sound, a _bang_ so loud it seems to force the particles of dust in the air aside, and Kakyoin jerks at Jotaro’s side, the motion of his reaction speaking to the outcome before Jotaro has even realized what happened.

“A simple matter of height,” the voice goes on. “You assumed the floor here was as level as the one you stood on above. A fatal mistake, I’m afraid.”

Jotaro turns his head. He seems to be moving very slowly, although he’s hearing the other’s voice at normal speed; he doesn’t understand why everything seems to be dragging through syrup, as if time itself has tightened to a trap around him. Kakyoin is still standing on his feet at his side, his eyes still open, his weapon still half-raised; but there’s red staining the torn-open edges of his shirt, where a hole has been blasted straight through the middle of his body. Kakyoin’s lips part, his hand shifts at the weight of his Dominator; and he collapses, falling backwards as if he’s just now feeling the impact of the shot that tore through him. His legs give way, his shoulders fall back to land hard against the floor; his head hits with the same force, without any attempt for him to save himself from the _crack_ of his skull slamming to the stone beneath them. It’s only his arm that falls wide, the hand that goes slack around the Dominator as quickly as it reaches towards Jotaro, so the weapon slides from Kakyoin’s unresisting hold to lie at Jotaro’s feet.

Jotaro stares for a moment, trapped by the moment into noticing things he wishes he didn’t -- the stillness of Kakyoin’s chest, the pallor of his cheeks, the unseeing flat of his violet eyes -- and then his fingers tighten, his jaw sets, and the tension around him gives way like rotting fibers tearing loose at the grip of a fist against them. Jotaro leans down to reach for the Dominator, fixing his hold into place against the handle as quickly as he raises it, so his fingerprint is pressed hard against the trigger before he has the weapon level, so the Dominator is extended before he’s even straightened. He fires immediately, straight into the chest of the figure coming clear with the easing of the dust around them; and again, and again, squeezing the trigger so the bolt of the Paralyzer hits the body gone rigid before him twice more before it topples backwards with the effect of the first shot. Jotaro strides forward to follow, until he’s standing over the figure of the man locked to such stillness his hand is still gripping the length of the gun he fired into Kakyoin, and then he fires on him again, not knowing if the other can feel the effect of the bolts he’s shooting at him and not caring. It’s only when the Dominator finally beeps with the confirmed identification of the man before him that Jotaro comes back to the present; a matter of seconds that feel like hours, as if an entire lifetime has passed. He stares at the readout on the screen, _Terence D’Arby_ underneath a bland ID photograph; and then he lowers the Dominator to his side, and lifts his head, and watches the dust around him drift down to lie heavy on the slanting floor under his feet.


	17. Absent

Jotaro doesn’t go back to his apartment that night.

The remains of their team return to the Bureau, once they have reconvened in front of the building into which Kakyoin and Jotaro walked what feels to Jotaro like a lifetime ago. Polnareff is wild-eyed and leaning hard on the support of Avdol’s shoulder rather than putting any weight on his left foot, but Jotaro doesn’t have the words to offer sympathy or concern for the others. It’s clear something happened to them, enough to rattle even Avdol’s composure to a set jaw and eyes dark with consideration of something beyond the present moment, but Jotaro doesn’t want to talk to them, doesn’t want to answer questions or face the possibility of sympathy. It’s easier to sit on the curb, Kakyoin’s Dominator held between his hands and his gaze fixed unseeing into the shadows on the far side of the street, until the transport to take them back to the office arrives. The medical team has come and gone, arriving in a rush and leaving in more of one, but Jotaro didn’t watch them either, even to catch a glimpse of Kakyoin’s red hair as he was carried away. He knows too clearly what he saw, knows how mortal Kakyoin’s injury must prove; he can’t make himself linger over a sight he is sure must be the last he will ever have of the other. It’s easier to hunch in on himself, to make armor of the slant of his shoulders and a wall from the brace of his arms at his knees and wait in silence for the vehicle to take him to wherever the Bureau sees fit to bear him.

He is put under observation upon their return. His Coefficient registers a full ten points higher than it did when he left, and if it’s still within the range of acceptable the jump is too precipitous for the official records to let him walk free. Jotaro doesn’t care about his restraint either, doesn’t feel it as the burden it might be in other circumstances. He can recall too clearly the dark, brutal rage that gripped him as he stood over the Paralyzed form of the man who shot Kakyoin, as he fired needless shots in some illogical desire to give vent to the tension of overwhelming pain sweeping up and over him; after that he’s distantly surprised his Coefficient isn’t higher still, surprised that the Bureau is willing to consider allowing him to retain his position as Inspector, after sufficient documentation. He submits to the documentation, and the endless string of meaningless questions that are put to him, and when he is provided medication he takes it without flinching from the bitter powder that clings to the back of his tongue.

He stays a pair of nights at the Bureau, the first under observation and dim lights that never entirely go dark and the second in a private room, close by the psychiatric wing so he can be rapidly contacted if the doctors have any further questions or concerns. It seems they don’t, or if they do they don’t express them to Jotaro; the morning of the second day after the mission Jotaro is issued a discharge, and a stern order to return for further treatment should his mood or his Coefficient vary dramatically. Jotaro accepts the order, and ducks his head to nod acknowledgment, and then he turns to pace through the silent halls of the medical wing instead of returning to his office.

He doesn’t have any expectations. He knows what he saw, he was standing right beside Kakyoin when the other collapsed in that unresisting slump to the floor. Jotaro has only ever seen criminals Elimated before, with the Dominator-decided execution happening too quickly and thoroughly to leave anything like a body behind, but he is sure there was nothing of Kakyoin left by the time that familiar form hit the dusty ground alongside him. There is no real doubt, no space for hope in the numb cold that has iced over the hurt in his chest; but he walks anyway, pacing past the mirrored windows into hospital rooms with a focus that is more determination than expectation.

Most are empty. The Bureau has many Inspectors and Enforcers, far beyond the few in Jotaro’s own department, but the Dominators handle most criminals at a distance, and Enforcers are often allowed to return to their own quarters to recover once they are stable enough to be released from a hospital room. Polnareff’s hurt foot must have been treated while Jotaro was under observation; there is no sign of him in any of the rooms Jotaro paces past, any more than Avdol appears on the far side of a pane of glass. Jotaro sees an Enforcer he’s never met, and in the next room an Inspector being treated for a line of deep tears across the span of her back; and then he steps through the doorway to another room, and when he looks through the glass he sees the last face he expected to see.

D’Arby is under full restraint, bound hand and foot to his hospital bed and with an Enforcer and Inspector standing watch at the only door that leads out of the room. He doesn’t appear to need the extra precaution; he’s lying still in bed, gazing up at the ceiling while the electrodes pressed to his head feed information Jotaro can’t understand back to a machine set up alongside him. There’s no question of his consciousness, in spite of his apparent compliance; his eyes are clear, his body intentionally relaxed instead of showing the slack clumsiness of dead weight. Whatever effect the Paralyzer had on him has worn off over the days Jotaro remained under surveillance; Jotaro wonders if the man will suffer any lasting repercussions at all, or if he will be processed by the System the same way all those deemed criminal are, regardless of the severity of their crime.

There’s the sound of a distant voice, a shout of _“Jotaro!”_ muffled by the thickness of the walls around the shadowed room in which Jotaro has stopped. Even with the voice softened by the barrier between them Jotaro recognizes the familiar tone; for a moment he thinks of retreating, of turning and striding out the other entrance to the observation space to be absent by the time the speaker comes through the door next to him. But he has nowhere better to be, no place that offers any comfort to the cold weight in his chest, so he stays still and waits for his oncoming company.

Jotaro is watching the door when it flies open to reveal his grandfather. Joseph is out of breath, presumably from the volume and duration of the shouting he’s been doing; he’s drawing an inhale for another yell as he steps into the doorway, but the sound dies to a stare as he draws up short in the entrance. He stares at Jotaro for a minute, gaping in answer to the focus of the other’s eyes until Jotaro huffs a breath and turns back to gaze at the sheet of glass in front of him. “Grandpa.”

This acknowledgment seems to bring Joseph back to himself. “ _Jotaro_ ,” Joseph exclaims, and strides forward again to let the door swing shut behind him as he draws in close alongside Jotaro. “Where have you _been_? I came in to check on you and the doctor told me you had been discharged an hour ago.”

“I was,” Jotaro says without looking away from the glass in front of him. “They said I was free to go wherever I wanted. Was I supposed to report back in to you for more watching?”

“That’s not what I mean,” Joseph protests. “I’m not keeping you under surveillance.” His tone softens from the edge of defensive protest, easing back to uncertain gentleness. His hand lifts as if he means to press his touch against Jotaro’s shoulder. “I just wanted to see how you were taking everything, Jotaro.”

“I’m fine,” Jotaro says. His voice holds perfectly level to lend sincerity to his words. “I’ll be back at work by the afternoon.”

“That’s not what I mean either.” It’s strange to hear Joseph’s voice so soft, as if he is afraid Jotaro is made of brittle glass to shatter under too rough a word. The hand at Jotaro’s shoulder tightens to the comfort of a squeezing grip. “It’s not easy to lose someone, I know. I want to make sure you’re coping alright. If you need anyone to talk to, about anything, you know you have a willing ear in your grandfather.”

Jotaro shrugs. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he says. “It happened. That’s all.”

“If you want to take some time off--”

Jotaro shakes his head. “No,” he says, and that one word is as certain as everything else that went before. “There’s only four of us now and Dio’s still out there. That was a trap he laid for us, wasn’t it?” He looks away from the glass to meet the concern in his grandfather’s gaze with the steady force of his own stare. “He’s collecting information on us too. He’s only going to get stronger the longer we wait to track him down.

Jotaro glances back to the glass, looking through the window this time to really see the man tied down to the hospital bed beneath him. “We have a lead, right now, who was closer to Dio than anyone else we’ve gotten our hands on so far. We should talk to him, follow up quick, before the trail gets cold.”

“I _do_ know how to run an investigation,” Joseph protests. “I’ve been in charge of this one since before you were born, I’ll have you remember.” The brief spark in his voice fades; when he speaks again his tone is back to that conciliatory care. “And I can go on handling it. With Polnareff and Avdol we can hold things steady if you need to take some time off.”

Jotaro shakes his head. “No,” he says. “He died getting this lead for us. I’m not going to let the chance go by.” He turns to slide away from Joseph’s hold on his shoulder so he can face the other man instead of gazing through the glass at D’Arby. “I’m going to get something to eat from the cafeteria. Then I’ll be back in the office to get back to work.”

“If you’re sure,” Joseph says. His forehead is still creased on concern, his mouth still drawn into a frown for a moment, but when he forces a smile it warms some of the strain in his features, easing his expression back towards his usual cheer. “It’ll be good to have you at your desk again. We can get back to normal sooner that way.”

“Yeah,” Jotaro says, and turns away. “Be there soon.” He strides away from his grandfather, and from the view of D’Arby’s continuing treatment, so he can depart out the door on the opposite side of the room and return to the overbright hallways that make up the medical wing.

He turns immediately down the main corridor to lead him back to the primary staircase down to the cafeteria level. He told Joseph he would be going there, and he really does need to have something to eat before he goes in to take on a full day of work. There’s no miracle waiting behind one of those mirrored windows; the best thing he can do from here is to make the most of the reality he still has stretching out before him.


	18. Haunted

It’s easier after the first few days back in the office.

The first morning is hardest. Jotaro is anxious for something to do, for a pursuit sufficient to claim his attention and hold back the shadows that close in on him when he is left to his own devices and the too-much quiet of his apartment; but no one has moved Kakyoin’s desk, and the first time he walks through the doorway to see the empty chair and dark screens where the other used to sit he very nearly turns around and leaves again. He would if there were anyone else there, he thinks; but Joseph left him to the peace Jotaro craves, and Polnareff and Avdol’s desks are as presently empty as Kakyoin’s is permanently, and Jotaro would rather face this on his own. So he comes through the middle of the office, rounding the corner to claim the seat at his own desk that has gone as unused as Kakyoin’s since the fight, and as his computer starts up he casts his gaze at the abandoned desk next to him, lingering over the still screens, the empty chair, the complete absence of any traces of the man who once would glance up to meet even the most subtle of Jotaro’s glances with a smile before turning back to his work. Jotaro looks, taking the absence into himself, forcing the shape of his mental world to conform to the truth of the reality around him, and then he turns back to his computer and is deep in the midst of reviewing security camera footage by the time Avdol and Polnareff come through the doorway with matched cups of coffee in their hands.

Jotaro is left alone, for the most part. He suspects he has Avdol to thank for that; Polnareff’s insistent small talk is grating for the first hours of the morning, and after the other is drawn away for a lunch break that stretches to nearly two full hours he returns much subdued. Avdol limits his own questions to an initial polite inquiry after Jotaro’s health and confirmed mental stability, and then to pertinent comments on the data they are scrolling through, which is exactly what Jotaro most wants from the office. It’s a comfort to be around him, far more so than Polnareff’s unthinking chatter or Joseph’s painfully concerned hovering; by the time Avdol gets to his feet to bid Jotaro goodnight late that evening Jotaro is master enough of his own voice to be able to give a level “See you,” in response. With Avdol’s departure the office is returned to Jotaro’s private keeping again, with no one there to see what he does or doesn’t do; Jotaro pauses for a moment to let the fact of that sink in, to let the truth of his isolation fill the tight-held self-control in his mind and flexing across his shoulders. Then he sinks back into his chair, and he returns his attention to the computer screen, and he lets work wash over him again.

It’s easier to be at the office. Jotaro goes home that first night after his release, late enough that he nearly has the transport to himself, save for a handful of people sleeping on the back seats; but no sooner has he stepped in the door of his apartment than he feels the oppressive silence around him, as if the ghosts that are so stripped from the sterile distance of the office have moved to take up residence in the domestic calm of his home instead. His throat tightens, his eyes burn, and for a moment he can feel the full weight of grief hanging over his head, a storm too enormous for him to weather if he once lets it break. He has to stand in the dark of the entryway for a moment, hands fisted at his sides and gaze fixed unseeing out into the familiar shadows of his apartment while he wrestles himself back into self-control over his emotions; then he grates out a command to turn on every light in the house, and comes forward to go through what motions of existence he can.

He’s not hungry, after some meal he doesn’t recall eating at the cafeteria at work, and the idea of lying down to sleep in the bed is one he rejects without even truly considering it. He feels the shadows of the past too clearly to trust himself with the bed that he last used while Kakyoin was alive, with the dreams in which Kakyoin was already a too-frequent visitor. The only thing that remains an option for him is the bathroom, and the comfort of a shower; but even that proves dangerous, with the steeling force of his uniform off him and the relative vulnerability of bare skin under the warmth of the spray. Jotaro can feel his eyes aching, can feel tension in his chest like the numb cold in him is giving way to the involuntary comfort of the water. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he loses his grip on that tension, if he lets that knot claw its way free of his ribcage and up his throat for speech; so he reaches to turn the water to cold, and contents himself with a perfunctory shower to clean his body more than soothe what resists comforting. He collects a change of uniform from his closet, and shuts off the lights in his apartment with another level order, and then he returns to the street, to walk over the distance to return him to the Bureau some hours before even the earliest risers have mustered themselves to work.

It’s easier in the office. There is always work, more now that they are down by one of the members of their department; Jotaro wonders briefly if Joseph will get a replacement, if he may come in some day to find a stranger sitting in Kakyoin’s chair and leaning in over Kakyoin’s desk. The idea is horrifying to consider, even in hypotheticals, and it just fixes Jotaro more firmly in his intention to remain in the office as much as possible, to save himself the surprise of walking in one morning to find his memories replaced with someone else. He doesn’t have anything to do at home in any case; he eats as well at the work cafeteria as anything he might order for himself in his own apartment, and when exhaustion gets the better of him the couch in the side room off the main office serves as a more comfortable alternative than slumping in over his arms crossed on his desk. There are showers attached to the training rooms that are always empty if Jotaro waits long enough into the night, and with his most basic needs handled he is free to turn his attention to more productive ends than what he’ll find for himself in the shadows of loneliness.

Avdol doesn’t comment on Jotaro’s constant presence any more than he offers the concern Jotaro doesn’t want or need. Maybe Avdol understands the comfort that comes from complete absorption in work; maybe he adopted a similar tactic, when his own Coefficient jumped high enough to drop him from the freedom of an Inspector to the limited scope of independence that is all Enforcers are allowed to have. Maybe he just feels the loss of their department member as Jotaro does, with a deep, aching hurt that seems to show no signs of easing as the days pass to weeks, until Jotaro has resigned himself to carrying it forward with him as a permanent burden. Joseph is rarely in the office, and if he worries about Jotaro he never again resumes the conversation he attempted when they met in the infirmary wing. Sometimes he suggests that Jotaro join him for dinner at Holly’s house, which Jotaro always agrees to, and always attends, before returning back to the Bureau to resume the reassuring focus of his work. Maybe Joseph takes Jotaro’s focus as a simple desire for vengeance, a need to track down the ultimate source of the criminal gang which took Kakyoin down; whatever explanation Joseph finds for himself, it’s enough that he makes no overt effort to dissuade Jotaro from his course of action, and that is enough for Jotaro to make do with.

The problem is Polnareff. Avdol’s efforts to urge the other to peace held for the first day and a half after Jotaro returned to the office; then Polnareff regressed to his usual constant stream of conversation, and if Avdol made any further attempts towards peace they failed too immediately for Jotaro to notice. Jotaro doesn’t care about Polnareff’s ceaseless conversation, or even about the shrill edge to the pointless arguments he falls into with Avdol; after the taut-nerve tension of his first day he feels himself gaining armor with each morning, as if each hour lets him thicken the walls bracing back the ache in his chest until it will eventually have all hardened to diamond-strength enough to bear even the weight of this loss. It’s easy to tune Polnareff out when Avdol is there to draw away the brunt of his attention, and if the rhythm of Avdol and Polnareff’s conversation reminds Jotaro of the scathing commentary that used to interject from that empty desk beside him, awareness of that absence is nothing new. He is learning to work with it instead of around it, to bear the burden without flinching from it, and the relative peace in which his fellow department members leave him is the greatest kindness Jotaro can imagine receiving.

This peace lingers for almost two weeks. Jotaro gains strength from it day-by-day, settling deeper into the routine he has made for himself and the distant, silent comfort that comes with the absolute boredom in which he has wrapped himself, until one morning the door to the office comes open to admit Polnareff in advance of Avdol’s usual arrival.

It’s early for Polnareff to show up. He doesn’t usually arrive until late into the morning, sometimes only barely managing his entrance in advance of the shift into afternoon; Jotaro can’t remember him ever showing up before Avdol has taken up his position of serene composure at the desk he has held longer than any of them. Jotaro hasn’t been paying attention to the time -- there’s not much point, when he only takes breaks when hunger or exhaustion demand it of him -- but when he glances at the clock he finds it to be later than he would have guessed by a span of almost two hours. He doesn’t more than glance at Polnareff by way of greeting, turning immediately back to his work without acknowledging the other’s arrival, but Polnareff fails to take this hint to sit down in silence and instead stops dead in the middle of the office, staring at Avdol’s empty desk as if he means to interrogate the space there by the sheer force of his gaze. “Where’s Avdol?”

Jotaro shrugs. “Dunno,” he says. “He isn’t in yet.”

“What do you mean he’s not in yet?” Polnareff demands, sounding as if he’s accusing Jotaro of being deliberately complicit in keeping Avdol away from the office. “Is he taking the day off?”

“Maybe,” Jotaro says. “I haven’t seen him since he left yesterday evening. Maybe he’s sick.”

Polnareff huffs a put-upon sigh, as if Avdol’s absence is a personal affront. “Where would he get sick from?” he asks, but he’s coming around the edge of his desk and Jotaro takes the question to be rhetorical instead of directed at him. “He’s never around anyone but us, and we’re not sick.”

Polnareff throws himself into his chair and reaches to start up his computers; Jotaro can hear the soft hum as the circuits come to life and Polnareff’s monitors illuminate. Polnareff falls silent as his screens turn on, giving up the petulance of his tone in exchange for venting his frustration against the keys of his touchpad, and Jotaro lets the sound of the other’s presence fill the room around him with the proof that the long vigil of another night is past. It’s something of a comfort, even if he would hardly have expected it to be; it’s easier to feel the fact of the world around him when there are other people in it, when he doesn’t feel the silence of the night so thoroughly it is as if he might be the only person left aware in a world made of nothing more than dreams and memories. Usually it is Avdol who fulfills the role of drawing Jotaro back into the space of reality via his calm presence; Jotaro is surprised to find the myriad small sounds of Polnareff’s company as good for steadying him to face the passage of another day. It’s a different kind of comfort, but a comfort all the same, until Jotaro has almost forgotten there is anyone in the office with him at all.

It’s then that Polnareff draws a breath to shatter the silence. “You haven’t been going home from the Bureau, have you?”

Jotaro’s shoulders tense immediately, clutching tight around the knots of abrupt self-consciousness that Polnareff’s words bring. It’s not the question itself as much as it is the tone, an almost-whine of a concerned lecturer that reminds him of nothing so much as his mother when he was a child still young enough to need the guidance of an adult’s advice to steer him. Holly has long since given over this variety of hovering concern, and if Joseph sometimes slides into it Jotaro has become adept at rolling his eyes and ignoring the irritation; to hear it from Polnareff, of all people, immediately strains his patience to the breaking point in the space between one breath and another.

Polnareff doesn’t wait for Jotaro to respond or to gauge the other’s reaction to his words. “You’re here all the time,” he says. “I never see you eating anything but what you can get at the cafeteria and Avdol says you’re here whenever he shows up, no matter how early he gets here. You must be working, what, at least sixteen hours a day?” He heaves a sigh and shakes his head. “You can’t keep working yourself like this, Jojo.”

“I’m fine,” Jotaro says, keeping his gaze fixed on the monitor in front of him. “I’m focused on catching Dio right now.”

“Joestar’s been looking for him for _years_ ,” Polnareff groans. “Are you going to spend years living out of the office? It’s even less comfortable here than in the Enforcer rooms upstairs.” He rocks back in his chair, leaning far enough that the furniture squeaks protest at the range of motion to which it is being forced. “Is this about Kakyoin?”

Jotaro didn’t think his shoulders could tighten further. He was wrong. His head tips forward, his gaze locks onto the bottom edge of his computer monitor as his fingers tighten on his mouse. “Shut up.”

“You can’t keep moping forever,” Polnareff declares. “You’re not the only one who misses him. We all lost a friend but you don’t see me pulling all-nighters.” He rocks forward in his chair again, leaning in to rest his elbows at the support of his desk as he watches Jotaro. “We’re all worried about you. Kakyoin would be too, if he were here.” Jotaro doesn’t respond to that, doesn’t lift his head to so much as meet Polnareff’s gaze; after a minute Polnareff heaves a sigh and takes a breath to continue. “I know what you’re going through. When Avdol got shot--”

Jotaro lurches to his feet so suddenly Polnareff actually stops talking, shocked into silence by the action. When Jotaro lifts his gaze to stare at the other Polnareff’s already pale face blanches of color, leaving the pattern of freckles over his nose to show up stark against the bloodless white of his skin.

“You don’t,” Jotaro says. His voice isn’t hot with anger, isn’t shaky with emotion; it sounds cold in his ears, as cold as his chest feels even with his heart beating the steady rhythm of continued existence. “Avdol came back, Pol.” Polnareff blinks, looking like he’s struggling with the meaning of Jotaro’s words, but Jotaro doesn’t wait for him to collect himself to coherency. He moves around his desk instead, striding away from the flicker of his monitors and to the door so he can escape into the space of the hallway and make his way towards the training spaces, where he might be able to find some of the isolation that offers the closest thing to comfort he can find for himself lately.


	19. Overcast

It’s been almost a month since the fight with D’Arby when Joseph calls Jotaro into his office.

This is a rarity. Joseph spends very little time in his own office, so far as Jotaro can tell; the majority of his day seems to be given over to pacing the hallways, often with a companion to growl arguments with and sometimes on his own, with no more audience than the band of his communicator on his wrist to hear what insights or complaints he may have to offer. It’s a certainty that if he needs to see someone in their department specifically that he will simply stride over the distance to take up his usual position pacing up and down the middle aisle between the computers, or leaning against the doorframe or at the edge of Avdol’s desk. Anything he has to say to any one of them is an excuse to visit with everyone present at the moment he arrives, and so when Jotaro receives the notification asking him to visit Joseph’s office he stares at it for a long moment before he looks back to his computer monitors. He has several files open, with half-formed connections drifting through his thoughts as he reviews what is, for the most part, the mundane details of everyday life captured on the street scanners; but he’s making no real headway, hardly even has a goal beyond his need to occupy his thoughts with something other than silence, and Joseph will do as well for that as anything else. Jotaro reaches to lock his screens to the flickering blue of his screensaver, and when he rises to his feet to leave the office neither Polnareff nor Avdol looks up to comment on his departure.

The Bureau is as busy as it ever is, filled with the murmur of distant voices and the tread of footsteps that echo against the smooth-polished floors and coolly distant walls. Jotaro walks past a dozen people on his way to his grandfather’s office, striding past polite nods and cool looks alike without acknowledging or truly noticing any of them. He notes the other employees as objects around him, to be worked around and attended to the same way he is aware of the shape of the walls around him and the shadow of the doorways he passes; it is only as he draws up to the open door to Joseph’s office that he brings himself into something like the present as he comes forward to step through the doorway.

Joseph is behind his desk; another first, so far as Jotaro can recall. With his elbows braced at the desk and his body leaning in over the sheaf of files he has laid out in front of him he looks far closer to what Jotaro expects of an Inspector, compared to the enthusiastic energy his grandfather usually exudes. He looks more professional, reserved and composed in a way that far better suits the uniform jacket he so often goes entirely without; he looks older, too, aged by his stillness to a decade beyond his usual appearance. It’s startling to realize how old he actually is, to recognize that this might be closer to the appearance of someone else bearing the years he does; the thought is an uncomfortable one, enough to tense in Jotaro’s shoulders and make his voice rough when he speaks into the quiet of the office. “You wanted to see me.”

Joseph looks up. His mouth flickers on a smile as he sees Jotaro, a suggestion of the cheerful greeting he might usually give; but then it’s gone, fading back into that strange reserve again as he straightens from his desk. “Yes, I did.” He lifts a hand to gesture towards the open space behind Jotaro. “Shut the door, Jotaro.”

This is easier said than done. Jotaro has hardly ever seen Joseph’s office door shut; at present the door itself is propped open behind a chair, which is in turn weighed down with several reference books in old-fashioned hardback binding. Jotaro tries moving the books first, lifting them by stacks off the chair before he gives up and just picks up the chair itself to move it aside by enough distance to allow space for the door to swing shut. That task accomplished, he turns back to the desk, where Joseph is still sitting in his chair as he reaches out to tug at one of the data sheets laid open in the file before him. Jotaro comes forward without waiting to be invited to take a seat in the chair on the far side of Joseph’s desk, and Joseph lays his hand flat atop the sheets and draws a breath before lifting his gaze to meet Jotaro’s stare.

“I need to talk to you about your Coefficient.”

Jotaro doesn’t answer. He meets Joseph’s gaze steadily, fixing to the other’s eyes without letting his focus drift away to the files under Joseph’s palm, and after a moment it’s Joseph who looks aside to cast his attention down and clear his throat.

“Your last several official records are a matter of some concern to the doctors responsible for treating you.” Joseph slides his hand sideways and looks up from beneath the weight of his eyebrows. “You know your Coefficient has been unresponsive to the follow-up treatment you’ve been undergoing?”

Jotaro lifts a shoulder into a shrug without looking down at the medical records Joseph has open before them. “I’m within the acceptable range. It hasn’t been getting any worse, either.”

“Your Coefficient hasn’t,” Joseph clarifies. “But while your Crime Coefficient has resisted treatment to drop by so much as a point, your Hue has been getting cloudier by the day.” Joseph lifts his chin to soften the weight of his attention and heaves a sigh. “You’re not coping, Jotaro.”

Jotaro doesn’t shrug, this time, but neither does he look away from Joseph’s stare. “I’m doing fine,” he says. “I’m getting my work done.”

“That’s  _ all  _ you’re getting done,” Joseph says. “It’s been days since I saw you anywhere other than at your desk. By report you’re in the office before anyone else and there after everyone has left.” Jotaro meets Joseph’s gaze, facing the accusatory intensity of the other’s stare with stoic distance, and again it’s Joseph who softens and gives way to a sigh. He ducks his head to look down at the records beneath his hand, although Jotaro doubts he’s seeing much of what’s on the page before him.

“You can’t keep this up,” Joseph says, in the flat tone that is more acknowledgment of a fact than it is an order. “Working every hour you’re awake. Sleeping on the couch when you’ve pulled too many all-nighters to force your eyes open. It’s not sustainable, Jotaro. If you keep this up you’ll have bigger problems than losing your role as an Inspector.”

Jotaro doesn’t reply. He doesn’t really have an answer in any case, and certainly not the promise or reassurance he knows Joseph wants from him. All he can really give back is his attention, the same steady awareness that has absorbed the information on his deteriorating Hue and static Coefficient that he hears on every check-up with the Bureau doctors. Joseph watches him for a long moment, frowning as if to give his words greater force; when Jotaro doesn’t look away or reply Joseph heaves a sigh and turns to look at one of the photographs set up on the mismatched shelves around his office.

“Sometimes we lose people,” he says. “Criminals who we bring in who don’t respond well to treatment. Sometimes Inspectors lose fights, whether they have Enforcers there to back them up or not.” Joseph draws a breath and lets it go deliberately. “Being an Enforcer is the most dangerous job here at the Bureau. Every one who chooses to join us knows what they’re getting into.” He turns his head to look back to Jotaro, his eyes dark with sympathy. “Kakyoin--”

Jotaro is on his feet in a rush, shoving back to stand before he’s even realized that he intends to move. His action isn’t a loss of composure; it’s a reflex, an act of self-preservation he hadn’t even known he had. Joseph rocks back in his chair, his eyes wide as he looks up at Jotaro standing in front of him, and Jotaro reaches to fight words free from the pressure fixing like a fist clenching the whole of his chest in its grip. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Joseph’s surprise only lingers for a moment before he collects himself into a frown. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t,” he says, leaning forward as he clasps his hands at the desk. “If you don’t work through your feelings they’ll go on festering, just as they have been.”

“I’m fine,” Jotaro says again, the words more clear than they are true. “I’ll deal with it.” He draws a breath through his nose and lifts his gaze to look just over the top of his grandfather’s head, rather than meeting the force of Joseph’s worried gaze on his face. “Is that all you wanted me for?”

Joseph drags a sigh. “Jotaro…” he starts, but his words fall to silence as Jotaro stands in front of him, and in the end he lets his hands unclasp and fall heavy to his lap. “That was it.”

“Okay,” Jotaro says. “I’ll be back in the office if you need me.” And he turns away, leaving Joseph with his medical record still open in front of him.

Jotaro doesn’t care about seeing the documents any more than he cares what color his Hue is; it’s just a piece of data, something to quantify a feeling that seems like it should be enough to crush him out of reality itself, as if to hollow him out into no more than one of the flickering holographs that shimmer blue light over their communicators. The best he can do is what he has been doing, in moving himself forward for as long as he can in the only way he knows how.


	20. Backup

Jotaro shouldn’t have left the office alone.

He knew it even as he was shutting his monitor down and retrieving the weight of his Dominator holster from where it has lain entirely untouched since his last mission out of the department. It would be safest to wait for backup, to delay his departure until Avdol or even Polnareff arrives to offer him support. But it’s early still, with the gray of pre-dawn light illuminating the city to slate and steel, and what patience Jotaro once claimed for himself has been entirely absent since the weeks that have passed since he was last out of the office. So when the report comes in from a street scanner beeping recognition of one of the half-do

It’s peaceful out on the streets. It takes long hours for the city to go to bed in the evening, with the effect of neon lights to chase away the darkness of falling night, but a sufficiently early rising keeps back all but the most alert or most insomniac residents. Jotaro passes a few businessmen, talking rapidfire into headsets hidden in the sleek dark of their hair, and a pair of older women bearing grocery bags back to the heights of their apartments; but compared to the bustle of midday and the enthusiasm of the evening, Jotaro might as well have the street to himself for how few people he passes.

He crosses the distance on foot. It would be faster to take one of the nearly-empty transports whirring past along the tracks in the street, but Jotaro has no way to track his target without the greater computing power available to him in the office, and without any guarantee the other will stay still on foot seems the best option. The man had been walking in the camera footage, strolling down the street with a graceful stride that belies the level of the Coefficient that flickered into clarity on the scanner alongside his image, and if he hasn’t changed his route Jotaro should be heading right towards him. He looked like he was out for a walk in the cool of the morning, gazing at the buildings around him more in appreciation than with any intention behind his focus, and Jotaro is trusting to his intuition to guide him into the path of his hoped-for target.

It will be hard to miss him, at least. There are no crowds to distract the eye or pull Jotaro’s attention away from the single person he’s looking for; any individual stands out in a clear space that would be impossible to claim in the crowds that will fill these streets later. Jotaro can be sure he sees everyone around him, can turn his attention in turn on each passing figure to compare them against the street scanner image before letting them continue on without pausing in whatever their morning task may be. He’s travelled four blocks out from the Bureau, considering the appearance of each person he strides by before dismissing them as no threat; it’s as he’s walking past the last of these, an old woman hunched small and shaky with age, that he is accosted himself.

“Excuse me.” The voice is reedy, drawn thin past a cramped throat; Jotaro doesn’t even have to glance to know it must come from the hunched-in woman he just walked past. He glances sideways and the woman’s fixed stare catches his own as she reaches to clutch at the sleeve of his coat. “Handsome young man. That’s a Public Safety uniform, isn’t it? Are you an Inspector?”

Jotaro grimaces. “I’m in the middle of an investigation,” he says, and tugs against his sleeve in the woman’s grip. “I don’t have time to talk, ma’am.”

“Oh, an investigation!” The woman’s eyes open wide with childlike delight, and far from loosening, her hold on Jotaro’s coat tightens to press around the whole of his arm instead of just his jacket. “What a perfect coincidence. I was just on my way to the Bureau to report a crime.”

Jotaro huffs a breath. “You’ll need to call that in to the main Bureau,” he says. “They’ll assign someone to follow up.”

“Oh, I’ve called and called,” the woman complains. “They always say they’ll send someone but then they never do and I’m left to my own devices again. What kind of a city do we live in, where defenseless old women can’t count on protection from the police?” She’s pulling at Jotaro, now, turning aside and all but dragging him in her wake; Jotaro follows unwillingly as he goes on working to draw free of her grip without pulling her right off her feet.

“That’s not my department’s job,” he growls. “I’m working a different case, I can’t help you with your problem.”

“Oh, you haven’t even heard me out,” the old woman says, and something in her voice is stronger, now, some of that frail tremor stripped away like it was never there at all. Jotaro stops trying to pull free, frowning at the back of the woman’s head as suspicion blossoms in his thoughts, but he isn’t kept in suspense long. The woman glances back over her shoulder, and when she smiles this time there is nothing of the absent inattention that was in her eyes before. “I’d think you’d want to hear everything you can about Dio.”

Jotaro’s shoulders tighten, he can feel every muscle in his body flex on sudden adrenaline. The old woman cuts a smirk at him and turns away as she continues dragging Jotaro after her. Jotaro follows; he could wrench himself free, he thinks, if he put in the effort, but he’s not sure he could do it without hurting the old woman gripping so tightly at his arm, and more immediately he wants to follow her, wants to go wherever it is she is leading him. This must be a trap, perhaps it was all along; but Jotaro’s Dominator is heavy at the back of his belt, ready and waiting when he reaches to check the handle under his grip, and rationality is taking a back seat to the possibility for revenge in Jotaro’s mind. He sets his hold on the Dominator, securing his grip without drawing it free, before he turns his frown back on the old woman in front of him. “You’re working with him.”

She cackles a laugh. “Oh yes,” she says. She’s towed Jotaro away from the main street and towards a narrow alley running between two buildings. Jotaro glances at the windows looking out into the shadowed space, but if there are any watchers above them he can’t see any indication of their presence. “I’d say I’m more than working with him. Dio-sama trusts me entirely as his right-hand man.” She cackles again. “Or woman, as the case may be.”

Jotaro’s frown doesn’t ease. “You’ve been with him a long time.”

The woman lifts her free hand to wave aside this statement. “From the beginning!” she exclaims. “I’m the one who made Dio-sama what he is today. He knows what he owes to me. When all others fall I will still be there supporting him.”

“He’s a criminal,” Jotaro says. “And a murderer.”

The woman rounds on him, hissing in the back of her throat as her eyes go dark. “And you think you aren’t?” she growls. “Your precious Bureau and your obedient Enforcers with those Dominators of yours. You think your kills don’t count because some tangle of wires decided they were criminals?” She’s lurching in towards Jotaro, leaning close as she spits the words free of her lips, as her eyes go wide and frantic with emotion. “Is any of that going to bring my son back?”

Jotaro rocks back, angling instinctively to gain greater distance between himself and the ire of the woman in front of him. “Your son?”

“My son!” The woman’s voice breaks high, skidding to a wail of endless loss; her eyes overflow with tears as suddenly as if a faucet has been turned on, as vicious fury gives way to an agony of loss. “You killed him, you killed him!” She drops Jotaro’s wrist and brings both hands to wrench at her hair as she rasps a sobbing inhale; her eyes are wild, her gaze unfocused as words pour out of her with more force than coherence. “All of you, you horrible _Enforcers_ , you shot him dead without even giving him a chance, without even knowing his _name_!” She drops her hands from her hair as abruptly as she lifted them there, curling them to fists at her sides as she fixes Jotaro with furious rage in her gaze. “You all deserve to be destroyed the same way _he_ was!”

Jotaro grimaces and takes a step back as he draws his Dominator out of his belt, but the old woman keeps advancing, denying him space to aim without pressing the Dominator fully to her face. “My son!” she wails. One of her hands vanishes into the pocket of her clothes; when she draws it free again she’s holding a pair of scissors, closed tight so the blades come to a razor point at the end. “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill all of you!” She swings the scissors forward to drive them into the side of Jotaro’s thigh; Jotaro grunts at the stabbing pain, but his Dominator is still scanning and hasn’t opened up to let him shoot. The old woman draws the scissors free and reaches to clutch at Jotaro’s jacket as she reaches up, apparently intending to drive the bloodstained scissors into Jotaro’s chest next, when there’s a calm voice from farther down the alley.

“That’s enough, Enyaba.” It’s a man speaking, his voice sultry-smooth; as Jotaro looks up he’s drawing out of the shadows, holding up a Dominator of his own to train on the woman between himself and Jotaro. He’s certainly no one from the Department -- he’s not wearing the approved uniform, and the light playing over his face from the weapon in his hands is orange instead of blue -- but his interruption is a distraction enough to let Jotaro seize at the old woman’s upraised wrist to stall out the forward swing of the scissors in her hold. “You’re too close to the main street. You’ll get attention we don’t need.”

“We’re far enough away,” Enyaba snaps back. “This is _my_ revenge, Dio-sama promised. You have nothing to do with it except to be bait.”

“Dio-sama did promise,” the man says. He’s drawing closer with a slow, stalking gait; Jotaro feels no sense of relief at his approach, whatever distraction he may be providing. “He said you could help deal with the problem.” The pseudo-Dominator in the man’s grip beeps acknowledgment, the metal shifting to open up into a far wider aperture than it began with. “And he told me to handle the rest of it.”

“You can’t,” the woman breathes. In Jotaro’s hold her wrist twists, the angle of her force turning like she’s thinking of lunging at the man approaching them instead. “I’m Dio-sama’s most trusted advisor! He relies on me, he _needs_ me!”

The man snorts a laugh. “Dio-sama doesn’t need anyone at all,” he says, and his hands tighten on the weapon in his grip.

Jotaro sees the light start to collect within the interior of the machine, sees the blue coalescing to a single point of brilliant illumination, and he hisses brief, shocked protest as he pulls at the old woman’s hand in his hold in an attempt to drag her sideways and out of the gun’s line of fire. “Don’t--” he starts; and then the weapon fires and the light inside bursts free to race across the intervening distance and slam solidly into the old woman’s shoulder. Jotaro feels the tendons in the arm in his grip flex, straining as if the woman is struggling to make a fist before the whole of her body swells, expanding grotesquely beneath his hold. Jotaro stumbles a step back, loosening his grip as he retreats, but it makes no difference; there is a moan of protest, raw and horribly strained, before the Eliminator-swollen body of what was an old woman explodes into a red mist. Jotaro’s too close to avoid the burst soaking sticky into the front of his uniform; the other man, some distance away, takes a careful step back to avoid so much as a droplet landing on him.

“Unpleasant,” he sniffs. “I wish Dio-sama would let me fire from a safer distance, but he was too paranoid about you.” He lifts the weapon in his hands again, taking aim at Jotaro in front of him. “You don’t seem all that scary to me, though.”

“Drop it,” Jotaro growls, and swings his own Dominator up to take aim at the man before him. He can recognize his face, now that the arrival of dawn is casting more light over the city and illuminating the streets to greater clarity; the man looks different on the street scanners, with some of his sneering good looks blurred out-of-focus by the high angle and low resolution, but it’s still obviously the target Jotaro has been tracking for the last days. His suspected crimes are sufficient to trigger warnings in the street scanners; with another murder fresh on his hands the System should have no trouble recognizing him. Jotaro steadies the weapon in his hands, ready to fire as soon as the screen flickers acknowledgment, and in the display of the Dominator he can see the other man’s face crack into a grin as he, stunningly, lowers the end of his weapon and lifts it up over his head in a sign of surrender.

“Oh no,” he says, mockery thick on the sound of his voice. “You got the drop on me after all. Even Enyaba wasn’t enough to throw you off-balance. Whatever shall I do?”

“Shut up,” Jotaro orders. “I’m taking you in to the Bureau.”

“I’m sure you are,” the man mocks. “You’re going to take out a big, bad criminal and carry him off the streets. The people of the city must worship you as their savior.” Jotaro frowns in lieu of giving a response to this taunt, and the man laughs again, a bright giggle of amusement. “I’m ready whenever you are, Inspector. Do you usually keep your enemies waiting?”

Jotaro doesn’t. He has the Dominator in his hands, the familiar weight of it braced steady in his hold; but he hasn’t felt it shift, hasn’t received the reassuring _beep_ of approval to fire at will. He glances down at the screen, wondering if there’s something wrong with the weapon; and it’s then that he sees the flashing display, the _WARNING_ in vivid red letters stamped across the image of his own ID picture.

“Oh, Inspector,” the man drawls. “You haven’t been taking very good care of yourself, have you?” Jotaro doesn’t look up but the other remains unflustered; he goes on speaking as Jotaro lowers the Dominator by an inch so he can better scowl at the words scrolling across the screen, _HUE CLOUDED_ and _RISING COEFFICIENT_ like a judgment across his ID. “You know Inspectors are in a dangerous job? Not from criminals,” as he shifts his weight to saunter a step back along the alley, “but from themselves.” He lifts his own weapon to tap heavily against the side of his head as he flashes a grin at Jotaro in front of him. “Half of all Inspectors go Enforcer before the end of their career. More retire young, take up a more soothing job.” He tosses his weapon into the air, letting it spin end-over-end before he catches the handle again. “The System keeps a close eye on those that stay. You never know when someone might just...lose it.”

He swings the weapon in his hand up to aim at Jotaro. Jotaro tenses, as if that will do him any good against a bolt of electrical energy, but the other is looking at his screen instead of at Jotaro, and his finger is still well wide of the trigger. He whistles through his teeth. “Your Coefficient’s better than I expected, given the stories. I heard you beat someone with your bare hands when your Dominator didn’t work, is that true?” He glances up at Jotaro; his teeth are still bared on that impression of a smile. “But your Hue’s a mess. What have you been _doing_ with yourself since we saw you last?”

Jotaro growls through his teeth. “None of your business,” he says, and squeezes the trigger of his upraised Dominator. Nothing happens, not even a murmur of a charge building within the machinery, and the man before him laughs aloud.

“False start,” he says in tones of put-upon sympathy. “You’re not going to be able to fire so long as the System deems you in danger of slipping up. Who knows what one more shot could do to your mental state as you are now?” His hand shifts on the grip of his weapon, his fingers slide towards the trigger. “Don’t you wish you had a weapon that obeyed you, and not some fancy System?”

There’s nothing Jotaro can do. His Dominator is heavy in his hands, a useless weight of no more assistance than a brick; the best he could manage is to throw it, and that with poor odds of effecting any change at all. He lowers it to his side all the same, shifting his grip so he can lift and heave it forward in a single motion; and there’s a _hiss_ cutting through the air, a crackle of electricity arcing from one point to another. Jotaro’s body tenses in reflexive resistance to the shot that must be bound for him, must be reaching out to unmake the connections of his body as easily as it did Enyaba’s; but nothing hits, no force and no electricity. There’s just the man in front of him, eyes wide and mouth half-open; his hands are still fixed on his weapon, his finger still tense in the act of firing even as the gun topples from his hold to clatter to the pavement. He follows immediately, dropping forward with no effort to catch himself, and in his falling he clears Jotaro’s line of sight to the figure who had been hidden behind the span of the other’s shoulders.

Jotaro recognizes him at once. The line of his shoulders, the elegance of his posture, the vivid color of his hair: there can be no mistake, it can be no one else. But he stays still, shocked out of reaction by the clarity of his last memory of those violet eyes, of that pale skin sapped of any possibility of life by the blood spilling as crimson-clear as the shade of that curling hair. It cannot be, no matter what he looks like, no matter how badly Jotaro wishes for the truth of this; and then Kakyoin tosses his head to swing the long curl of his hair back from his features, and the gesture is so perfectly familiar as to tear past all Jotaro’s defensive walls, to cut straight through whatever argument rationality might make with the instant effect of recognition felt somewhere in the deepest part of his chest. It _is_ Kakyoin, however impossible, however unreal; and Kakyoin is looking up to meet Jotaro’s stunned stare and meet it with the flicker of a smile that lingers brighter in his eyes than at the soft of his mouth.

“Hey there, Inspector,” he says. “You looked like you could do with some help.”

Jotaro can’t answer, can’t speak at all; but when he huffs a gusting exhale Kakyoin’s smile returns, and Jotaro can think of no better support.


	21. Tentative

It’s Kakyoin who calls for a transport to come and pick up the pair of them along with their now-immobilized target. Jotaro is crouched down over the figure of the man he came out looking for, running through the standard checks to make sure the other is locked to true immobility before they let their guard ease, but he looks up to watch Kakyoin make the call into the band of his communicator. There’s nothing unusual about it: Kakyoin recites back the standard request for a transport with the same words Jotaro has used himself for a non-urgent request, and if there is a pause in the response to “Enforcer Kakyoin Noriaki” the lack of outright rejection is more than Jotaro had expected. Kakyoin hangs up the call, and when Jotaro leans over to grip at the Paralyzer-stiff arms of the man before them Kakyoin comes forward to take the support of his legs. Between them it’s easy to move the weight to the side of the alley, where an idle glance won’t cause panic among the few early risers wandering the streets, and then there’s nothing left to do but to wait for the transport to arrive.

Jotaro takes up a position at the side of the alley. He wants to stare at Kakyoin, wants to stand facing the other and turn the whole focus of his attention to matching every detail of the other’s existence to the memories that he had thought were the last he would have; but he can’t bear it, can hardly hold to the apparent reality of this moment even with the distraction of business to ease some of his self-consciousness, so instead he does the only thing he can, and takes up a position leaning against the wall next to the body held to such stillness by the effect of Kakyoin’s shot. Kakyoin follows, adopting a similar position at the fallen target’s head instead of his feet, as if to leave Jotaro the physical space to work through this abrupt, unexpected change in the reality he has been living in.

They are both quiet for a span of time. Jotaro is staring at the pavement under his feet, his gaze sticking itself to the tiny details of cracks and stains against the dark surface while his mind is entirely occupied in sorting through the assumptions he has made over the last weeks and loosening the vice grip of grief that has so stifled any kind of real existence he might have hoped to claim for himself. It’s not gone -- Jotaro thinks he could hardly throw over something so absolute so quickly, and the pain of loss makes him leery of leaping into unmerited hope -- but it gives way more than he thought it could, freeing the knot in his chest to let him take a deeper breath than he has managed in weeks and giving him the mental space to consider the present situation so he can take a sideways look at the figure alongside him. There is certainly someone else here with him, equipped with a Dominator that recognizes his identification enough to let him fire on a known criminal; and he looks like Kakyoin, speaks with Kakyoin’s voice, appears to be Kakyoin in every possible way that Jotaro’s mind can call up to test. It’s Jotaro’s own memory that conflicts with the present, the recollection that he tries to turn aside from at every chance; but even with weeks of deliberate avoidance he’s sure of what he saw, is convinced of the severity of the wound he saw Kakyoin take. He can’t reconcile the two facts, his memory of the past and the seeming reality of the present, and finally he draws a breath and turns to frown at Kakyoin a span away from him. “How are you here?”

Kakyoin doesn’t ask for clarification. He tips his head against the wall behind him, casting his gaze sideways through the weight of his hair to meet Jotaro’s; the color of his eyes, the slant of his smile, the shadow of his hair, Jotaro knows these all too well to mistake. Then he leans back, pressing his head to the wall behind him and freeing Jotaro from the attention of his gaze as he looks upwards along the towering front of the building before them.

“I don’t remember all of it,” he says, as carefully precise with the words as Jotaro recalls him in all his memories. “I was allowed to return to consciousness several days ago. I believe it was about two weeks past, but I was put back under after they confirmed my memory so it could have been more.”

“Who?”

“The Bureau,” Kakyoin says, still gazing up at the side of the building in front of him. “I was told they brought me back to headquarters and took me straight to the experimental division. The infirmary wouldn’t have been able to do anything; they would have certainly lost me, so there wasn’t much risk in giving me over to attempt more drastic procedures.”

Kakyoin pauses, as if giving Jotaro a chance to ask for more details. Jotaro doesn’t speak into the silence. He knows what he saw in the dust of the basement that has become a staple of his nightmares waking and sleeping; he needs no medical knowledge of his own to recognize a fatal injury when it is so clearly presented before him. The fact of Kakyoin’s survival is an impossibility by everything he has ever known; but the details are hardly relevant to him in this moment. Either Kakyoin is dead, and this is a ruse or an illusion of some sort; or he is somehow, miraculously, still alive, still a part of the world in which Jotaro lives through each passing day. It’s that that Jotaro is trying to decide, the reality of what he’s presently seeing and speaking to; so he keeps his gaze on the face next to him, watching the shift of a soft mouth with words in a familiar voice, and the longer he looks the more certain he becomes. It’s an impossibility, unreasonable, insane; but Jotaro recognizes every detail in the figure beside him, knows habits on sight that he would never have recalled to mind unprompted, and the revival of a dead man seems more likely than finding such an absolute match through holograph imitation.

Kakyoin’s lashes dip, his gaze flickering to skim over Jotaro alongside him. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth before he looks away again and shifts to straighten from the wall. “Here.” He draws the weapon holstered at the back of his belt free, only gripping at the handle for a moment before he shifts his hold to the top so he can extend it towards Jotaro. “Take a look.”

Jotaro accepts the weapon. It feels right, it carries the surprising weight with which he has become abundantly familiar; when he settles his hand against the grip the scanner flickers to life as he expects, the light playing across his face before his ID photo appears in shades of blue on the screen in front of him. The warning lights are absent, this time, the alarm-red stripped away from the readout of his Coefficient and the scan of his Hue; the Dominator shifts obediently in his grip as he brings it up to aim at the wall before him, the mode adjusting to its destructive setting in expectation of his command.

“Scan me.” Kakyoin sounds perfectly calm; when Jotaro looks up at him he looks it too, leaning back into a recline against the wall at his back as if they’re in the Bureau, as if he’s lounging in one of the chairs at the cafeteria with a book open in front of him. Jotaro looks at him for a minute, meeting Kakyoin’s unflinching gaze with the focus of his own before he lifts the Dominator. The light slides over Kakyoin’s face, panning down the length of his body without flinching; when the screen beeps identification Jotaro looks down to see Kakyoin’s features displayed in that grainy blue over the description: _Enforcer Kakyoin Noriaki_ , alongside a Coefficient well within the expected range. The Dominator shifts, starting to unfold itself into Paralyzer mode, but Jotaro lowers it before the transformation is complete so he can swing the weapon around to hand it back to the other.

“Your Coefficient is lower,” Jotaro says as Kakyoin claims the handle and moves to holster it at his belt again.

“I didn’t have much to do other than talk to the doctors,” Kakyoin says. “And it’s been a while since I was out on the streets. They say Coefficients are a dozen points higher for field Enforcers than those that work data collection.” He casts his gaze sideways again, coupling his attention with a curve of his lips on amusement. “I can’t imagine why.”

Jotaro huffs a laugh too soft to voice without looking away from Kakyoin’s face. Kakyoin holds his gaze without flinching, even as the laughter softens to ease his mouth back to calm neutrality. Jotaro looks at him intently, picking apart the details of the other’s features: the soft strands of his hair, the line of his cheekbones, the tension he always carries against the curve of his throat. He looks exactly right, in every facet Jotaro can think of and all those he hadn’t considered; there is no space for error, no detail that is mistaken. Kakyoin submits to the weight of Jotaro’s focus, meeting the other’s stare with level attention; even when Jotaro lifts his hand over the distance between them he doesn’t jerk aside in a flinch. Kakyoin’s lashes flutter as Jotaro’s fingers touch the curl of hair falling in front of his face, his mouth softens very slightly, but even then he doesn’t say anything, just lets Jotaro slide his touch down the length of his hair until he reaches the end and lets his hand fall free.

Jotaro’s throat is tight. He has to make an effort to draw air into his lungs; it’s only in looking away from Kakyoin’s focused gaze that he can manage, and even then he can feel tension clinging to his words to make them harsh and strained. “Could have been a holograph.”

Kakyoin hums. “Like the one you ran into before,” he agrees. “That’s good thinking.” Jotaro can see Kakyoin turn his head in his periphery, can see the motion of the other tipping to lean back at the wall behind him again. “Are you satisfied, Jojo?”

Jotaro can’t speak at all, to answer that. He ducks his head instead, contenting himself with the force of a nod while he struggles to ease the pressure from his throat enough to let him draw a deliberate breath around the knot in his chest. He’s still working on it when Kakyoin shifts alongside him and reaches out without looking to touch the very tips of his fingers to the sleeve of Jotaro’s uniform coat. It’s not a demand, hardly even a request, with how gentle the contact is. Jotaro lifts his hand anyway, turning his wrist to offer his hold palm-up, and when Kakyoin’s hand slides down to press to his own he closes his grip around the other’s hand with careful intent. Kakyoin’s hold tightens on his, squeezing for a moment before easing, and Jotaro answers him with the same force before letting go. He brings his hands in over his chest, folding his arms to fix them to greater support one against the other, but the pressure doesn’t slow the beating of his heart in his chest, and his hand goes on prickling with the heat of Kakyoin’s skin against his until well after the transport has arrived to take them back to the office.


	22. Unrestrained

Their return to the office is more dramatic than Jotaro was prepared for.

He had expected some measure of excitement. Confronting the face of a man he had believed dead in the middle of the street had stolen his breath and stripped speech from his lips; he had had nothing to offer but blank silence for the first long seconds. He anticipates as much from Avdol and Polnareff; even some measure of shock from Joseph, once he visits the office to find Kakyoin reinstated in the desk that has remained empty as if waiting for him. Jotaro expects stunned silence when he and Kakyoin come through the office door, expects to have the time to see what true shock looks like on his coworkers’ faces in the seconds it will take them to compose themselves to ask the necessary, immediate questions.

He probably should have known better than to expect quiet. The last peace he is able to have is in the first moment of stepping through the door, with his entrance still within the realm of expectation; Polnareff is glancing up just as Kakyoin steps into view, and he manages to spend all the air in his lungs in a shout, “ _Kakyoin?!_ ” so piercing that Jotaro flinches back even from the echo of the sound off the walls of the office. Avdol starts to his feet, jolting back from his desk in the most telltale reaction Jotaro has ever seen from the other man, and it’s then that Polnareff rasps an inhale back into his lungs and bursts into a storm of noisy tears. Kakyoin gusts a breathless laugh, and Avdol exclaims some sound of incoherent welcome, and Jotaro barely escapes to the interior of the office before Avdol makes it around the corner of his desk to shake Kakyoin’s hand, followed so quickly by Polnareff that the three of them are caught together in an embrace for a moment. Kakyoin looks past Polnareff’s hair ruffling into his face as the other offers sobbing welcome against his shoulder, and when his gaze catches Jotaro’s, Jotaro’s mouth turns up onto a smile to echo Kakyoin’s as quickly as the other offers it.

Jotaro takes refuge behind his desk. Kakyoin remains trapped in the middle of the office, held there by Avdol’s insistent questions and Polnareff’s occasional hugs or balance-threatening slaps against his back, but he appears as composed as ever, as if he has been gone for no more than a day or two. Jotaro listens to Kakyoin tell the story of his recovery and very recent release, drinking in the details as much as the sound of the other’s voice, and it’s just as Polnareff’s fit of emotion is fading to ragged, hiccuping inhales that the door comes open again to admit Jotaro’s grandfather.

The whole room goes quiet, but for the damp sound of Polnareff’s breathing. Jotaro is at the far end of the room and can see the varied expressions flicker over Joseph’s face: shock, and disbelief, and then happiness so radiant it seems to strip years away from the older man’s face. Joseph steps forward with that glow on his features, beaming as he offers his hand to clasp Kakyoin’s firmly in his own, and he maintains his hold as he shakes his head with disbelieving happiness.

“They sent me the notice an hour ago that you were being released from the secure holding area and sent out for backup,” he says. “If I didn’t know Caesar has a terrible sense of humor I would have thought it was some kind of a joke. But you’re really back with us, aren’t you?”

Kakyoin huffs a soft laugh and ducks his head. “I am, Inspector Joestar,” he says. “I heard you were having some trouble tracking Dio down and could still make some use of me.”

Joseph booms a laugh with complete disregard for the enclosed space and the echoes off the glass windows behind him. “That we can,” he says. “It’ll be a pleasure to have you back with us. We’ll put you to work as soon as we have a chance.” He loosens his hold on Kakyoin’s hand to free the other as his gaze slides to Jotaro sitting at the back of the room. “Though I understand you weren’t even properly back before you had to go out on a rescue mission.”

Jotaro groans and leans back into his chair so he can block Joseph’s face behind the dark wall of the monitors in front of him, but this is a short-term solution which Joseph promptly overrides by striding forward over the distance between them. “I don’t suppose you have a different story,” he says, the cheerful resonance of his voice falling towards strident judgment instead. “Or an explanation, maybe, for why you went out after a suspected criminal with no backup for yourself at all?”

“I had a lead,” Jotaro says to the dark monitors in front of him. “I didn’t want to lose him waiting for Avdol to show up.”

“You could have sent out an alert,” Joseph points out. “Even if it’s early, it’s not like you don’t have a team of Enforcers available to you. You’re _supposed_ to take one with you, not go gallivanting into danger yourself.”

Jotaro grimaces. “Like you haven’t done the same thing, old man.”

“That’s different,” Joseph growls. “In my day we went through all kinds of training before they let us so much as look at a Dominator. I was a fighting force all by myself, in my heyday. And all that experience counts for more than you want to believe, Jotaro!” Jotaro lifts his gaze from his monitors without lifting his head, so he’s looking up through the dark of his hair at his grandfather; Joseph scowls at him, maintaining his temper for a long moment, before he rolls his eyes as he throws his hands into the hair with a gesture of dismissal. “As long as you made it back safe at the end of the day. You know your mother would have my head if anything were to happen to you.”

Jotaro looks back to his monitors and reaches for his keypad to start up a search through the accumulated footage for the street he and Kakyoin were on. “I thought parents weren’t supposed to spoil their children.”

“Maybe not,” Joseph growls. “But grandparents are allowed to dote on their grandchildren as much as they want.” Jotaro refrains from commenting on Joseph’s particular variety of doting, and after a moment Joseph gives up the subject with a deeply-heaved sigh. “You’re back now, anyway. Can I assume that you’ll calm down now that your boyfriend’s back with us?”

Jotaro chokes over the response he might give to this as his attention jerks up from the monitors to his grandfather once more. Joseph meets his gaze for a moment, looking deeply self-satisfied in winning this response, before he deliberately turns his head to look back to Kakyoin still standing in the middle of the office. “I don’t imagine they kept you up-to-date while you were having experimental surgery, did they? Jotaro’s been running himself ragged ever since we lost you. His Coefficient jumped ten points and his Hue was so clouded I had to fight to keep him on field work.” Joseph cuts his gaze back to Jotaro for a moment, his mouth tightening towards a grin before he returns his attention to Kakyoin. “Look after yourself from here on out, will you? For my grandson’s sake.”

Jotaro stands from his desk so quickly he pulls the attention of every eye in the room. He feels hot with embarrassment, self-conscious enough it should be glowing crimson over his face, but he has no actual idea how he looks. His self-awareness has absented itself, leaving desperation to guide his movement in retreating.

“I don’t have time to listen to old men in love with the sound of their own voice,” he blurts. “I’m going to get some breakfast.” He strides around the corner of his desk to emerge into the main aisle so he can push past Joseph’s grin and Polnareff’s shocked stare; at least Avdol is ducking his head to hide his expression, although Jotaro suspects there to be a fought-back smile at the other’s lips as well. Kakyoin is the last between Jotaro and the doorway; he isn’t smiling at all, when Jotaro glances up at him. His expression is calm, composed as if he didn’t hear a word Joseph just said, and as Jotaro is moving past him he speaks as easily, in an undertone that will be difficult for any of the others around them to hear.

“I can come with you,” he murmurs. He has his head turned so the shadow of his hair will curtain the shift of his mouth; when Jotaro pauses to look back at him Kakyoin’s attention is turned full on him, as focused as if the rest of the room and the associated audience don’t exist. “If you want company.”

Jotaro doesn’t want company. He wants Kakyoin, distant from his grandfather’s teasing and Polnareff’s wide-eyed attention, with hours of that complete attention turned on him while he figures out how to soften the curve of Kakyoin’s mouth into a smile or a laugh. But his heart is pounding too hard for him to bear the thought of it right now, his body is too hot with tension for him to countenance the presence of that one person he wants most to linger with, and what he needs more even than he wants Kakyoin’s presence is the few minutes of isolation that he can get from a retreat to the peace of the cafeteria.

He shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says. Kakyoin ducks his head into surrender to this and starts to turn away, and Jotaro reaches out, extending his hand as if to grab at the other’s sleeve. He doesn’t complete the motion, it stalls still on self-consciousness, but Kakyoin still looks back as if Jotaro’s hand is actually pressing to his arm. “I could get you a coffee.” Jotaro is sure his whole face is flushing scarlet but Kakyoin is watching him with full focus in his eyes, and he can’t duck aside and free of the other’s attention. “If you want one.”

The moment of Kakyoin gazing at him seems to go on forever. In actual fact Jotaro can only count a pair of anxious heartbeats before Kakyoin’s mouth curves into a smile that darkens shadows over the violet of his eyes.

“I would,” he says, and lifts his hand to press to Jotaro’s shoulder as easily as if the gesture means nothing at all, as if Jotaro can’t feel each separate finger against his coat like Kakyoin’s touch is printed in heat. Kakyoin’s smile goes wider, his grip tightens. “Thanks, Jotaro.” He draws away then, letting his hand fall as he turns his attention towards some casual comment to Avdol, and Jotaro steps forward to slip out of the office with Kakyoin to draw the attention that might otherwise linger against him as he retreats.

His face still feels hot by the time he reaches the cafeteria to place the order for his breakfast and Kakyoin’s coffee, but no one comments on it any more than they comment on the smile that keeps breaking free of his control. Jotaro tries to fight it back for a minute, out of habit as much as anything else; then he decides that he has as close to privacy as he’s likely to get here, and leans in to cover his face with his hands and let the force of absolute happiness break over him like the morning sunlight spilling out over the city streets.


	23. Complexion

Jotaro takes Kakyoin back out into the field with him before the week is over. He’s spending less time in the office, now that the ghosts of his lonely apartment have been dispelled by the miraculous return of that person he had believed lost forever; the first night after Kakyoin’s return Jotaro goes home to fall into bed and sleep almost until noon the next day. He’s the last one in, after even Polnareff’s ever-tardy arrival, but Jotaro thinks the teasing that follows is worth it just for stepping through the office door to find Kakyoin glancing up from his desk to offer a smile that Jotaro feels more deeply than any of Polnareff’s crowing amusement or Avdol’s good-natured greeting. He gets as much done that one afternoon as he feels he would have managed in a full week before, and with his greater intuition and Kakyoin’s return their department has more leads than they know what to do with. Joseph takes Avdol out to follow up on the first one, claiming that Jotaro is on office duty as punishment for his last unsanctioned solo outing; but that expedition goes less well than Joseph expected, and the day after he and Avdol return limping from an array of blue-black bruises that mottle every part of their visible skin. Jotaro doesn’t comment on this at all; but the next lead that comes in ends up assigned to him, and he doesn’t need Joseph’s teasing suggestion to make his choice for who he wants with him as backup.

They’re after a pair, this time, a duo of what are assumed to be brothers, although their records have long since been corrupted or overwritten. They might merit the full team, if they were both adults; but the older of the two has nothing more than petty theft on his record, and a Coefficient barely beyond the normal range, and if the younger’s Hue shows up in virulent shades of lime green and washed-out purple his Coefficient is still low enough to let him pass by the street scanners without an alert, if he ever strayed more than a foot behind his brother. They don’t appear to be any kind of a threat, hardly worth tracking down under other circumstances; but the System finds it likely that they are connected to Dio’s web of criminals across the city, and however unthreatening they are, the information they may have is well worth the effort to bring them in.

Jotaro and Kakyoin know where they’re going. Their targets have taken up residence in an apartment building in one of the towering residence spaces that line the major boulevards of the city; the Bureau is making inquiries into the owners to determine how someone with no legal record in the System obtained a lease, but that’s something Joseph has Avdol and Polnareff working on, and Jotaro thinks it irrelevant to the goal at hand. He and Kakyoin will go in, Paralyze the older brother and take the younger into protective custody, before returning to the Bureau to hand them over for further questioning and medical treatment. It may be possible to rehabilitate them into the System, if psychiatric treatment goes well; and the more stable they are, the more likely they are to offer voluntary help to the investigation that draws closer to Dio himself with every passing day.

Kakyoin is easy to work with. He falls into pace with Jotaro as soon as they are out of the Bureau, resuming his former position as quiet, certain support as if he had never left. Jotaro hadn’t realized how keenly he felt the other’s absence until he has it back; it feels like a space in his life has been suddenly filled, to have the soft sound of Kakyoin’s footsteps at his side and Kakyoin’s breathing coming steady and calm as they gain access to the apartment complex and take the elevator to the floor to which they are headed. Kakyoin doesn’t offer the nervous small talk to which Polnareff is prone, or the bad jokes that Joseph favors; he’s just steady, apparently content to linger at Jotaro’s side in comfortable silence but for the whirring of the elevator bearing them up over the two dozen floors they need to ascend. Jotaro watches him sideways as they wait out the travel, lingering over the line of Kakyoin’s jaw, and the curl of his hair, and the flex of his fingers as he checks the Dominator at his back and shifts his holster to a better angle. Jotaro has no idea how he survived, no guess as to what kind of miracle the Bureau managed to work on him; but there is no difference, not so much as an unsteady motion or a habit lost in Kakyoin’s recovery. He’s exactly as he was, returned precisely as if time itself has been rewound to pluck him from the past, and Jotaro feels his chest aching with gratitude for this reprieve, little though he understands it.

“Kakyoin,” he says suddenly, speaking more loudly than he means to. Kakyoin doesn’t startle at the sound of Jotaro’s voice, just lifts his head from checking his weapon to give the other the full of his attention, and Jotaro draws an inhale deep into his lungs as he meets the vivid color of the other’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Kakyoin blinks, visibly startled for a moment, before his expression softens in that way that always closes up Jotaro’s throat with pressure he can’t name or ease. “Thank you,” he says, speaking more gently than Jotaro did. “I’m glad I was able to make it back.” He looks back down to his holster again, tugging at the band to shift it an inch on his hips. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to, for a while.”

Jotaro wants to ask. It’s enough that Kakyoin is back, he doesn’t need to know the details; but curiosity still flickers in the back of his mind, asking how the Bureau managed to effect such a recovery. But his throat is tight, he can’t find the words to speak, and then the elevator hums to a halt, and the doors come open, and their brief conversation is given over to the demands of the present.

Kakyoin takes the lead. Jotaro wants to step ahead of him, to place himself in position to interrupt a repetition of their last assignment together; but he’s had several lectures from Joseph on the role of Inspectors and Enforcers, and they have no indication that these two brothers are in a position to offer any real physical threat. He contents himself instead with staying close by Kakyoin’s shoulder, one hand ready at the handle of the Dominator at the back of his belt, and when they draw up in front of the apartment door they do so together, shoulder-to-shoulder before the space of the entrance. Kakyoin looks to Jotaro, who gives a nod of assent, and then he looks back and reaches out to press hard at the doorbell.

“This is the Public Safety Bureau,” Kakyoin says, speaking in a clear, carrying tone that seems to ring with authority. “We’re here on an investigation. Please answer at once and without offering threat.”

There is quiet for a long, stunned second. Then there’s a muffled shout from inside, the sound of rapidfire conversation in a tone that is probably meant to be a whisper but that remains clearly audible through the thin walls of the apartment. Jotaro can hear two voices, indicating that both their targets are within; the tones are panicked more than determined, though. It’s a better sign for them, so long as the older brother doesn’t grow desperate enough to try something truly foolish like physical resistance, and there isn’t enough time for that before a voice calls _“Coming!”_ and the sound of heavy footsteps approaches from within. Jotaro draws his Dominator from his belt, holding it down low behind him so it remains mostly out-of-sight; Kakyoin has his hand against his own but leaves it in the holster to better present a calm front for the man on the other side of the door. There’s the sound of a deadbolt turning and dragging through the machinery within; and then the door pulls open, and they are confronted with the figure on the other side of the door.

“Afternoon,” the man says in a low tone he is clearly straining for. “How can I help you?” He’s attempting calm in spite of sweat visibly sticking against his hairline; and then his gaze slides away from Kakyoin and to Jotaro, and he blanches, his voice breaking to a whimper of panic as he looks at a face a mirror-perfect match for the one he is bearing.

Jotaro stares for a moment, taken aback in spite of himself by suddenly being confronted with someone wearing his appearance like a mask; but he has his Dominator drawn, and instinct takes over for him. He swings the weapon up, lifting it to point at the other as the man yelps and lifts his hands to stumble away; but the scanner beeps protest, the blue light shifts to red, and the Dominator announces _“Inspector Kujo Jotaro”_ in a tone that Jotaro imagines to be chastising. He grimaces, lifting the Dominator away as his mind reels over alternatives. The fear in the man’s expression eases, his face softening with the effect of stunned relief, and he starts to smile as he steps forward again towards the doorway. Jotaro braces himself, fixing his feet in place in expectation of a physical rush; and then Kakyoin steps forward, and swings his Dominator around and into the side of the man’s head, whose eyes roll up as he collapses at once to the ground. Jotaro blinks, startled by this abrupt removal of an assumed threat, and Kakyoin lowers his Dominator, bringing it back around so he can grip it properly as he sighs a breath. 

“That’s more than a little unsettling,” he says in a tone that manages to be very nearly conversational. “I heard about the identity holographs but I didn’t expect them to be quite so uncanny.” He grabs at the belt of their fallen opponent to heave him up onto his side and reveal a small black box pinned to the back of his clothes; as he pulls it free the man’s face flickers, the details of Jotaro’s features giving way to leave the older brother they came to collect. Kakyoin lifts the box to frown consideration at it before he switches it off and reaches up to offer it to Jotaro. “I guess we know how they got the apartment, anyway.”

Jotaro reaches out to take the machine from Kakyoin and tuck it into his pocket. “That was good thinking.” Kakyoin glances up at him and Jotaro nods towards the unconscious man lying in the doorway of the apartment. “With the Dominator, when it wouldn’t fire.”

Kakyoin’s mouth curves up, his eyes glitter bright. “Thank you,” he says. “I learned that trick firsthand.” Jotaro snorts a laugh, and Kakyoin grins up at him before he moves to get to his feet. He’s just straightening when there’s a sharp intake of breath from the shadows of the apartment, a gasp that goes strained on panic, and Jotaro looks up to see the younger brother standing silhouetted in the dim-lit interior of the apartment.

“Hello,” Kakyoin calls, moving to slide his Dominator back into his holster. “I’m sorry if we frightened you. We’re with the Public Safety Bureau.” He latches his weapon into place and extends his hand into the entryway of the apartment. “We’re taking your brother in to ask him some questions. Would you come with us, please?”

The younger brother stares at them as if he hasn’t understood a word of what Kakyoin has said. Jotaro isn’t sure he really heard the other speak at all; he’s younger than he looked to be in the security footage, and his eyes are dark with unseeing panic. He looks at Kakyoin for a moment, his expression tight with fear as if he’s gazing at some horrifying monster; Jotaro can see the strain building behind the other’s eyes, tension ratcheting higher towards a breaking point he can’t predict.

“Kid,” Jotaro says, and shifts to move a little closer to the doorway as he lifts his free hand to extend in a gesture he hopes looks soothing. “Take a breath, we’re not--” and the boy launches into action, lurching forward in a flurry of motion so sudden that Jotaro and Kakyoin both jerk back instinctively from the shock of his approach. It takes Jotaro a heartbeat to collect himself, to lean back in and make a grab for the back of the boy’s shirt as he moves past him, but the boy ducks low, bending over until his back is almost parallel to the ground, and Jotaro’s fingers only skim his shirt without offering hold enough to actually stall his motion. Kakyoin reacts nearly as quickly as Jotaro does, and the boy’s dodge to avoid Jotaro’s hold sends him straight for Kakyoin’s; Jotaro sees Kakyoin’s hand close around the back of the boy’s shirt, can see the strain of the fabric pulling taut to forestall the other’s retreat. It’s only for a moment; then there’s a wordless hiss of anger and raw terror, a bright edge flashes in the shadows, and Kakyoin spends his breath to an exhale of startled pain. His hold on the boy’s shirt drops, his hand falls to press to the flat of his stomach, and every thought of capturing the younger brother evaporates from Jotaro’s head with the shout of “ _Kakyoin_ ” that breaks free from his lips. He’s turning sideways, reaching to grab at Kakyoin’s shoulders to steady the other with the one hand he has free for support. The boy ducks away, bolting past Kakyoin to take off down the hallway, and Jotaro lets him go in favor of offering support to the partner he has alongside him.

“Thank you,” Kakyoin says. There’s a relief just to hearing his voice; he sounds pained, his words a little more strained than they usually are, but when he reaches to brace himself at Jotaro’s shoulder his grip lacks the pressure of desperation, and he’s still taking most of his weight on his own feet in spite of the support Jotaro is offering with his shoulders and the brace of his arm. “I didn’t realize he had a knife on him.”

“He must have a higher Coefficient than we thought,” Jotaro says, although he’s looking at Kakyoin instead of down the hallway after the escaped child. “He should come in to the Bureau.”

Kakyoin lifts his shoulder into a shrug. “Maybe,” he says. “He might have been acting on instinct, though, which would let his Coefficient drop back down as soon as he feels himself safe again. He has no history of crime on his own, just the record of accompanying his brother in whatever he was doing.” Kakyoin looks down at the figure before them and lifts his foot to nudge a toe against the man’s unconscious form. “We’ll get more out of the older brother in any case, and if the younger is a problem we can follow up on him later.”

“He’s gone now,” Jotaro agrees. “He’s a lot faster than I thought he’d be.” He looks back down to the front of Kakyoin’s uniform jacket, where the other is pressing his hand against the fabric the boy must have cut. “Are you okay?”

Kakyoin nods. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s not deep, I shouldn’t need more than a few stitches.”

Jotaro grunts acknowledgment without agreement in the back of his throat. “We’ll need to stop the bleeding,” he says, and reholsters his Dominator so he can free his hand to reach into his coat. There’s a weight there, just against the inside pocket, where he’s been carrying the square of fabric within for so long he had almost forgotten it was there; the handkerchief comes free easily to the tug of his fingers, unfolding into a clean square as Jotaro shakes it out and reaches for Kakyoin’s hand pressing against his stomach. “Here.”

“Ah,” Kakyoin says, and lifts his hand from the cut scored through his uniform coat and into the skin underneath. Jotaro is moving with intention, meaning to press the handkerchief to Kakyoin’s injury and hold it there beneath the weight of his own hand; but he hesitates as he sees the cut, as his gaze finds the torn edges of Kakyoin’s uniform and the wound beneath. He’s expecting blood, vivid red soaking to stain Kakyoin’s clothes and smear to pink across the other’s fingers; but there’s no red, none of the crimson Jotaro was anticipating. Kakyoin _is_ bleeding, liquid is dripping into his uniform and slick across his palm; but it’s a strange emerald green running across his skin, trickling with a viscous consistency too thick to be the blood Jotaro was expecting. Jotaro stares for a moment, caught by surprise, and when he lifts his gaze to meet Kakyoin’s eyes Kakyoin is watching his face already, his expression clear of pain and drawn into calm consideration instead. They gaze at each other for a moment; then Jotaro ducks his head down, and completes the movement to press the handkerchief in against the color seeping over Kakyoin’s skin.

“Hold that steady,” Jotaro says. “I’ll call for a transport to pick us back up.” Kakyoin reaches to lay his hand atop Jotaro’s to take over the application of pressure against his injury, and Jotaro slides his hand free so he can lift his communicator and make the request as promised. His fingers are tinged green, marked by the not-blood soaking into the handkerchief Jotaro pressed to Kakyoin’s injury, but Kakyoin’s fingers were as warm against his hand as they have ever been, and Jotaro only spares a glance for the color at his skin before he drops his hand to his side and returns his focus to the more immediate task of supporting Kakyoin. Questions can wait along with his curiosity, and in the meantime Kakyoin’s hand is bracing at his shoulder, and Jotaro’s arm is around Kakyoin’s waist, and that’s enough to be sure of for now.


	24. Translucent

Jotaro joins his partner and their captured criminal on the transport to bear them back to the office. There’s no point in walking when there’s space enough in the vehicle, and Jotaro isn’t in a hurry to free himself of the weight of Kakyoin’s hold bracing against his shoulder. They do separate once they’re in the vehicle itself, as Kakyoin is leaned back against the support of one of the seats while the pair of medical staff come in to lean over his injury and do the first run of disinfection before providing a better temporary bandage than the thin handkerchief soaked to pale green under the weight of Kakyoin’s palm pressing it against him. Jotaro watches Kakyoin’s face for the duration of the travel, tracking the efforts of the team by the expression of the other’s features instead of trying to make sense of their actions past the barrier of their shoulders. Kakyoin fixes his gaze on the roof of the transport over them, reclining against the chair at his back with deliberate calm, and if he is in any pain there is no trace of it on his features. He looks calm, as if he’s patiently waiting more than fixing himself to suffer through some physical agony. It reminds Jotaro of watching Kakyoin through the glass in the Bureau infirmary, when he was under observation for his Coefficient as much as his physical well-being: as if Kakyoin has drawn patience into himself, has gained a sense of timeless peace to carry him forward into whatever comes next. Jotaro’s attention lingers on Kakyoin’s face, drawn into some echo of that enduring patience just by observation, until it’s almost a surprise when the transport glides to the stop that promises their arrival at the front doors of the Bureau.

Jotaro offers the support of his arm to Kakyoin again as they step down from the transport. He’s not sure Kakyoin needs it -- he shows no difficulty in getting to his feet from the seat in which he was reclined, no grimace of pain or delay in his motion -- but when Jotaro offers his hand Kakyoin reaches up to brace at his shoulder without protest, so Jotaro replaces his hold around the other’s waist to steady him as they make their way inside and to the elevator to take them to the infirmary level. They have the elevator to themselves for the short ride, but neither of them speaks, and Jotaro maintains the same silence as they make their way down the hall and to one of the exam rooms where Kakyoin can receive short-term care. They are separated then, as a nurse steps in to take the weight of Kakyoin’s balance to herself and leave Jotaro in the waiting room; Jotaro remains standing instead of relaxing into one of the comfortable chairs set around the perimeter of the space. He has the room to himself, and in the absence of any audience he turns himself to pacing up and down the clear space between the array of chairs and listening to the sound of his shoes against the floor as the minutes slide past. He’s lost in his own thoughts, wandering far afield from his present location, when the door to the exam room comes open and the nurse emerges once again.

“Inspector Kujo?” she asks. Jotaro turns to look at her and she lifts a hand to gesture into the space on the other side of the door. “He’s all bandaged and just waiting for a last check-up from the doctor. You can come in, if you’d like.” Jotaro ducks his head into a nod of assent, and as he steps forward the nurse moves out the doorway ahead of him so she can gesture him down a row of closed doors to where one is standing cracked open by a few inches to let the light within spill out. Jotaro takes the suggestion of the nurse’s upraised hand with another nod, and a mumble of what he intends to have the form of thanks, before he comes forward to push the door open and step into the room.

Kakyoin is reclined again, leaning back against the support of the examination chair. His uniform coat is gone, replaced with a thin shirt with a nondescript pattern over it; there are laces to tie it in the back, but they’ve been left undone and the collar is sliding down to bare the curve of Kakyoin’s collarbone for the stark hospital lighting overhead. His hair is vivid in the white illumination, looking red as spilled blood against the tiny pillow beneath his head and washing out his skin to a pallor that shows up the color of his lips with feverish clarity, but when he turns his head to look at Jotaro the curve of a smile that shapes his lips comes easily, and the focus of his eyes is unclouded by pain or delirium. He lifts one hand from where he has his arms lying over his stomach to offer a tiny wave with the tips of his fingers in answer to Jotaro’s entrance.

Jotaro pauses just past the doorway. He and Kakyoin look at each other for a moment in silence; it’s only when the door has swung shut behind him and offered a soft  _ click _ as it latches into place that Jotaro draws a breath to speak into the weight of quiet laid over the room.

“What did they do to you?”

Kakyoin doesn’t so much as blink. He holds Jotaro’s gaze with his own, meeting the force of the other’s stare with his usual steady composure.

“They gave me a series of cybernetic implants.” His hand shifts against his stomach; his fingers slide to trace idly against the fabric covering his bare skin. “I nearly died before they even got me back to the Bureau. They had to operate immediately. I’m told the first implant was done within 24 hours of our mission start, just to stabilize the function of what of my body was still operating.” His shoulder shifts under the thin hospital shirt; his gaze slides away from Jotaro’s, pulling away to fix at the far corner of the room as he draws a breath to continue speaking in that same level tone. “By the time I was allowed to regain consciousness they had replaced the majority of my abdomen with machinery. I still have my own lungs, and the damage was mostly above my hips so my legs are basically the same as they were. Most of my spine is still as it was, although there were some implants necessary there too to let me have some sensation from what was replaced.” His hand shifts again, his fingers spreading out to span the flat of his stomach covered by the drapery of the shirt. “I’m lucky to be alive at all. They considered a brain transplant into a fully mechanized body--” with another shrug, as if this is of no major concern, “--but those have failed in every case when the recipient wasn’t consenting and prepared beforehand, and even then the success rate is low. This was the best chance I had at pulling through.” His gaze comes back to meet Jotaro’s; his mouth turns up at the corner towards a flickering smile, although it doesn’t make it to the shadows in his eyes. “I’m able to be of some use in the field, at least.”

Jotaro gazes at Kakyoin for a long minute. Kakyoin’s smile eases, the curve of his lips relaxing back into soft surrender; he looks just like he always did, as he has from that first moment Jotaro met him. It’s hard for Jotaro to wrap his head around the fact of Kakyoin’s words, around the reality of the other’s partially-mechanized existence; but he saw the damage D’Arby’s attack did, injury well past help from even the most skilled reconstructive surgeon. He touches his fingers against each other, remembering the strange sticky weight of the green liquid that clung to his skin; and then he lets his hand loosen and go slack at his side. “Can I see?”

Kakyoin’s lashes do dip at that, fluttering into a tiny giveaway for surprise for a moment. Then he shakes his head as if coming back into himself and offers another smile as he lifts his hand from where he’s pressing over his stomach. “Sure.” He catches at the hem of his shirt, pulling to lift the cover from his body, and Jotaro steps forward to see as Kakyoin lays himself bare for the illumination overhead.

Jotaro’s never seen anything like it before. There’s none of the obvious machinery his imagination suggested, none of the raw steel or whirring gears of his foolish expectations; but neither does it look entirely human. Kakyoin’s chest is untouched, smooth skin running down to just past his bottommost rib, where it ends in a long, curving scar that follows the shape of the bone of Kakyoin’s ribcage just above it. The skin is darker there, deepened to the flushed red of a newly-sutured wound, but it’s not the scar that Jotaro is looking at. He’s looking just below it, where pale skin meets with a wholly different substance, faintly translucent and catching the light to a pearly sheen that spans the whole of Kakyoin’s abdomen, from the bottom of his ribs all the way down to where the line of his hipbone is just visible over the waistband of his uniform pants. The surface is white, an inhuman porcelain that adds shading and substance by comparison to Kakyoin’s pale skin; but it seems to shift with flickering color, as hints of green chase each other to pools of shadow before dissipating and sliding away again to vanish. There’s the outline of muscle shaped against the surface, detailed enough that it seems even to shift in answer to the tiny motions of Kakyoin’s breathing and the tension of his position, but there’s no indentation of a navel, just that unbroken smooth running down to meet with another long scar that sits just above the line of Kakyoin’s pants.

Jotaro presses his lips together and swallows before he lifts his hand fractionally from his side. “Can I--?”

“Touch it?” Kakyoin asks. “If you want. I don’t have much sensation from the replacement skin, but I can feel pressure and temperature, usually.”

There’s only a few inches between Jotaro and Kakyoin, but it still takes him a moment to steel himself enough to reach out and bridge the gap. His fingertips skim against the pearlescent surface, barely making contact at all, but when Kakyoin doesn’t flinch away Jotaro draws back in, setting his mouth tight as he fits his hand to Kakyoin’s abdomen. It’s warmer than he expected; a little cooler than human skin, cooler than Kakyoin’s hand was against his with the handkerchief, but radiant in comparison to the metal-cool Jotaro was anticipating. He spreads his fingers wider, caught by the polished-marble smooth as he trails his touch over it; his fingertips catch at an irregularity, sticking at an edge that runs across where Kakyoin’s navel would have been.

“That’s from today,” Kakyoin says. “It’s much easier to mend the implants than to heal skin, but seams still need to be smoothed away.”

Jotaro huffs a breath of acknowledgment, sliding his fingers over the length of the invisible seam. Kakyoin draws an inhale and Jotaro looks up sharply. “Does it hurt?”

Kakyoin shakes his head. “No,” he says. His cheeks are very faintly pink, his mouth is soft on a smile. “Your hands are warm. I can feel the heat.” Jotaro’s face darkens, his mouth sets as he draws his hand away with reflexive self-consciousness, but Kakyoin’s smile lingers, his gaze holds Jotaro’s attention. The lighting catches at the color of his eyes, bringing out a depth of color there that Jotaro hadn’t seen before; for a minute Jotaro just stares, too caught in looking to recognize that Kakyoin is gazing just as intently at him. There’s a breath of silence; then the sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway, and Jotaro looks back over his shoulder just as the door comes open again to let a woman in a long white coat through the door.

“Kakyoin Noriaki,” she says, reading from the display on her wristband before she lifts her head to look into the room and sees Jotaro standing in front of the bed. “Ah.” She glances back down to the information playing over her wristband. “You must be Inspector Kujo.” Jotaro ducks his head into a nod. “Excellent. If you’d like to take a seat,” as she gestures towards a chair set at the corner of the room, “I’ll give your Enforcer a last review and formally discharge him. Would you mind seeing him back to the department, or to his quarters, as he chooses?” Jotaro shakes his head. “Great. Just sit down please, this will only take a minute.”

Jotaro sits. The room isn’t big enough for him to stay on his feet, and he has no particular desire to get in the way of the doctor’s businesslike efficiency. And besides, a few minutes to sit down sounds like the best chance he’s likely to have to clasp his hands in his lap and fix his gaze on his knees while he waits for the tremor of adrenaline to ease from its rushing course through him.


	25. Politic

Jotaro sleeps in his own bed the night after his mission with Kakyoin. Kakyoin returned to the office with him, freed from the medical attention of the infirmary as soon as the doctor confirms the mend in the cut across his abdomen is complete, and by the end of the afternoon the intensity of the morning has given way to the calm of daily work and the flow of new information that comes in at a constant rate, now, from the multitude of leads Joseph has acquired for their pursuit. There’s always more to do, enough that Jotaro thinks of lingering late into the night to get more of it done; but he can feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down against him, with his thoughts cleared to pay attention to such things, and even a full night of work will bring him no closer to catching up. They will have to do what they can, pushing through the backlog of information that accumulates until they eventually catch up to the subject of all their efforts; until then, Jotaro is going to sleep in a more comfortable bed than the office couch that runs a full foot too short for the length of his frame.

He’s awake with the dawn. It’s easier to wake, now, than it was before; in retrospect Jotaro feels as if he was hardly conscious at all for the whole span of Kakyoin’s absence, as if he fell into a clinging nightmare and stayed there until the criminal in the street fell forward to reveal Kakyoin standing whole and healthy and himself. The world around him seems startlingly bright; even after a week to accustom himself to the overwhelming clarity of reality, Jotaro still sometimes finds himself marveling over the taste of a cup of coffee, or the warmth of the sunlight against the back of his neck as he walks out to the stop for the transport that will take him to work. The world seems brighter, warmer, more immediate than it did before; and Jotaro is happy to take up a seat at the far corner of the transport that runs past the Bureau, and press his shoulder to the cool support of the glass window next to him, and let the low murmur of the city wash over him with more comfort than stress to the experience.

It’s quiet when he arrives at the Bureau. The employees at the Department work at all hours of the day, some arriving at noon and working past midnight and several arriving at or earlier than Jotaro’s habitual waking. Today he arrives before the greater rush that comes a little later in the morning, when there are only a handful of other employees to be seen manning the security stations at either side of the door, and when the woman who scans his badge offers a “Good morning” Jotaro nods acknowledgment rather than speaking to disrupt the unusual peace that has settled itself over the Bureau. He fits his hands into the pockets of his uniform, feeling the comfort of familiarity settle itself around him, and then he turns his feet to carry him down the hallway to the door that leads to his own department and the even greater comfort he may find there.

The office is far from empty. Avdol is sitting at his desk near the door as Jotaro steps through; he glances up to smile and nod, but he’s clearly occupied and looks back down to what he’s doing at once. Polnareff’s desk is empty, of course, and there’s no sign of Joseph pacing out his regular path between the workstations where the rest of them spend their days, but it’s not Polnareff, or Joseph, or even Avdol that Jotaro is looking to see. His focus drifts farther, seeking out the desk set adjacent to his own at the farthest point from the door, to find Kakyoin just looking up from his monitors to meet Jotaro’s gaze. Their eyes meet, Kakyoin’s lips curve on a smile, and Jotaro draws a breath and ducks his head into a nod of greeting before he strides forward to take up position at his own desk.

“Morning, Jotaro,” Kakyoin says from behind the shadow of his monitors.

Jotaro doesn’t look up but he clears his throat to speak anyway. “Morning.” His voice feels tight in his throat, like the words are resisting his efforts to speak them; he frowns and presses his lips together to cut off any further attempts at communication before fixing his attention to the process of booting up his computer and monitors.

Quiet settles over the room in the wake of Jotaro’s arrival. Avdol is frowning at his monitors, when Jotaro glances across the room at him; Kakyoin’s expression is intent, his focus turned entirely onto what he’s doing. Jotaro pulls up a file of his own, the next one he had to work on when he shut everything off yesterday; but his gaze keeps wandering away when he doesn’t think of it, sliding sideways to find the curl of Kakyoin’s hair and linger against the shade of it. Jotaro keeps thinking about the curve of the scar over Kakyoin’s chest, the long arc of machinery meeting flesh along the bottom edge of the other’s ribcage; his present focus keeps giving way to the distraction of memory and the thought of emerald shadows sliding beneath porcelain opalescence. His hands feel hot, his skin flushing with self-conscious heat at the memory of Kakyoin shivering against the exam table as Jotaro’s fingers slid across the not-skin that has replaced his damaged body; he wonders how much Kakyoin can feel, how much sensation he gave up in exchange for his continued survival. He can feel heat, at least, and the pressure of touch weighting against him; and Jotaro ducks his head down, fixing his unseeing gaze on the monitor of his computer while he struggles to restrain the wander of his thoughts to a more professional bent. His cheeks are flushing with heat of his own, just with the recollection of Kakyoin’s smile to him the night before; he sets his jaw on intention, steadying himself to focus exclusively on work for the next hours while he is in the office.

He’s still struggling with this when there’s a  _ beep  _ made soft over distance. Jotaro looks up, his attention drawn immediately by the alarm of a communicator. Avdol grimaces, looking away from his monitor to frown at his wristband instead as he lifts his arm so he can tap acknowledgment of the incoming message. He skims it for a moment, his frown lingering at his mouth as his forehead tightens to a crease; then he rolls his eyes and heaves a sigh as he gets to his feet.

“Polnareff?” That’s Kakyoin, speaking from behind the wall of his monitors; he’s looking at his screen instead of at Avdol, when Jotaro looks at him.

Avdol nods. “He says he’s taking the day off sick,” he says.

Jotaro watches Avdol reach to shut off his monitors and lock his computer. “Is he?”

“He is not,” Avdol says, firm with certainty. “I expect he has a hangover, which is only to be expected given how much wine he indulged in drinking last night. I told him he should pace himself and it was his choice to not listen.” He picks up his uniform coat from where it’s draped over the back of his chair and sweeps it around to pull over his arms. “I’ll need to explain the difference between a true illness and a hangover to Monsieur Polnareff. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Good luck,” Kakyoin calls. Avdol raises a hand in acknowledgment and strides to the door of the office so he can let himself out and into the main space of the Bureau. Jotaro watches him go; it’s only when the door clicks shut in his wake that he becomes painfully aware of the space of the office, and the current occupants within. He looks back from the door, his attention drawn as if by the drift of his thoughts; only to find Kakyoin already watching him instead of his computer monitors. They look at each other for a minute; then Kakyoin flickers a smile, and Jotaro has to duck his head to hide his expression in the appearance of focus while he gets the flush staining his cheeks back under some kind of control.

The quiet that falls now seems tense, to Jotaro’s mind; or maybe that’s just the effect of adrenaline on him, that he feels every beat of his heart with such self-conscious awareness. He can hear every shift he makes in his seat, every muted tap of his fingers against the touchpad of his computer; he can’t tell if Kakyoin is still looking at him and doesn’t have the nerve to look up and find out. He has his lips pressed tight together, to keep the pace of his breathing to something of a reasonable speed, but that doesn’t stop his pulse from racing to excess all the same. He wonders if he should say something, if he should offer a comment to crack the shell of expectation that seems to have settled over the office, and then there’s the sound of a chair rocking back, and wheels dragging over the floor, and when Jotaro looks up Kakyoin is pushing away from his own desk and around to approach Jotaro’s own.

Jotaro stays where he is as Kakyoin approaches, rolling his chair over the floor so he can come in and lean against the edge of Jotaro’s desk. He looks easy, relaxed, as if there’s nothing in particular to be self-conscious about, as if setting his elbow at the corner of Jotaro’s workstation and leaning in against the support of his hand at his chin is entirely normal. “Hey Jotaro,” he says, as he looks up to meet the focus of Jotaro’s gaze on him. “Do you have a minute?”

Jotaro nods. It seems safer than trying to find words, much less voice for those same. Kakyoin’s mouth flickers over a smile in answer and he reaches into his pocket.

“It’s kind of silly,” he admits, as he pulls free a folded square of white. “You gave this back to me yesterday.” When he extends it over the edge of the desk Jotaro recognizes it as the same handkerchief he has kept folded in the pocket of his coat for the last weeks. He feels himself going warm with self-consciousness at the acknowledgment of his own sentiment; but Kakyoin isn’t pausing to wait for an answer before he continues on. “I tried to get it clean after I was back in my room, but I couldn’t get the color to come all the way out, here.” He turns the handkerchief over and Jotaro can see the tinge of green still set into the fabric from where Kakyoin’s injury soaked into the cloth.

“It seems a shame to get rid of it after you went to such trouble to hold onto it for me,” Kakyoin says. Jotaro looks up sharply to the other’s face but there’s no smirk of amusement, no glitter of teasing in Kakyoin’s gaze; he looks as sincere as he sounds, as if there’s nothing at all of note in Jotaro’s care. “I was hoping you might know how to get the stain out. There was blood soaked into it before, right?”

Jotaro ducks his head into a nod. “Yeah,” he manages. That sounds ordinary enough, once he gets the word out; he coughs to clear his throat and goes on speaking with a little more ease. “I didn’t get the stain out myself. I had to ask for my mom’s help in getting it clean again.”

Kakyoin rocks back a little ways in his chair. “Oh.” His elbow shifts at the desk, like he’s thinking of pulling away again, and Jotaro reaches out at once to catch at the corner of the handkerchief.

“I can ask her again,” he blurts. “If you want.”

Kakyoin blinks at him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You’re not,” Jotaro says. He’s speaking too loudly but Kakyoin doesn’t flinch away, just goes on watching Jotaro’s face with the full attention of his steady gaze. Jotaro meets the other’s eyes for a moment; then he ducks his head to look back to the handkerchief and steady his grip at the corner so he can pull it free of Kakyoin’s hold. “I don’t mind.”

“If you’re sure,” Kakyoin says, and Jotaro ducks his head into a nod. Kakyoin lets his outstretched hand fall to rest against the top of Jotaro’s desk; Jotaro folds the handkerchief and tucks it into his pocket, careful to keep the folds neat as he does. It’s only after he’s slipped it away for safekeeping that Kakyoin draws a breath to speak.

“Your mother helped you last time?” Jotaro looks up to meet Kakyoin’s gaze lingering against his face. “That was kind of her. She’s Inspector Joestar’s daughter too, right?”

“Yeah,” Jotaro says. “She always says we should visit more.” Kakyoin smiles gentle amusement and Jotaro ducks his head to look at the top of the desk, where Kakyoin’s fingers are resting against the surface. He presses his lips together and swallows hard before he speaks again. “You should come with me next time. After the investigation is over.”

Kakyoin’s fingers don’t tense, his hand doesn’t shift against the desk. “I’d like that,” he says, sounding perfectly calm. “As long as it’s not an imposition.” Jotaro shakes his head and Kakyoin huffs a breath of a laugh. “Alright.” Jotaro watches his elbow shift at the table; when Kakyoin reaches out his fingers ghost against Jotaro’s hair, brushing just over the curve of his ear before landing at his shoulder. Jotaro looks up to find Kakyoin smiling at him, his eyes dark and his mouth soft. “I’m looking forward to it.” They go on looking at each other for a moment, separated by no more than the distance of Kakyoin’s outstretched arm; then Kakyoin eases his hold, and rocks back into the support of his chair, and pushes himself away to return to his position in front of his desk. Jotaro watches him go, watches him settle back into place in front of the monitors and resume the work he was doing; it’s only with the soft of Kakyoin’s typing resuming that Jotaro is able to collect himself enough to blink hard, and turn his head, and make another attempt to compose himself to work.


	26. Unseen

Joseph doesn’t make any speech before their next mission.

Jotaro is grateful to that. It seems a foolish thing to be superstitious about; it’s not as if Joseph’s words were the cause of the catastrophe that came with their last attempt to pin Dio down, not as if his contagious enthusiasm led them into the danger that nearly killed Kakyoin in the dust of that basement. But it’s easier to feel the difference, when their briefing comes in the form of an electronic report with a note from Joseph to review it, and when they are given a full night to read through the data before they go out together. Jotaro goes through the entire report, absorbing the details with a single, thorough read-through; then he shuts his computer off, and gets to his feet, and goes home hours earlier than he would normally depart. He eats dinner in silence, and takes his time under the comfort of the shower, and then he lies in bed while the night slides past around him and he gazes at the ceiling thinking about the events of the next day.

They depart early. The sun is high in the sky, bright enough to cut through the constant haze of the city and cast their shadows stark across the ground before them; they will have plenty of illumination for their mission, this time, if nothing else. All five of them go together; even Joseph is quiet, looking almost stern in the absence of his usual teasing, and if Polnareff makes a few attempts at jokes even he falls to quiet as the transport they commissioned to take them to the distant office building draws to a halt at their destination. They are all silent as they file off the transport to take up position in the shadows of the building, close enough to the side that they won’t be visible from the angled windows of any of the higher floors. Jotaro watches the vehicle doors slide shut in their wake, listens to the soft whirr of the engine resuming its action as the transport moves away down the street, and then they are left alone, with no one but each other and their preparations to steel them against the fight to come.

“We’re all here,” Joseph says. He’s speaking to them all, loudly enough for his voice to come clear to all four of his listeners, but the crisp carrying edge he often adopts is absent in the need for what secrecy they can attain. “We’ll be going in together and staying together as long as we can.” He looks from one of them to the next in turn, his pale blue eyes dark with intensity as he meets each pair of eyes gazing back at him. “I’ll send for the medical team to come back around as soon as we know we’re seen so they can be on-call, but we’ll need to take advantage of as much surprise as we can get.”

“Without counting on it,” Avdol reiterates. “We should assume they know we’re here.” Kakyoin and Jotaro nod acknowledgment to this repetition from the brief; Polnareff is looking up at the building behind them, his expression unusually focused as he considers the wall of glass and steel at their backs. Avdol reaches out to press a hand to Polnareff’s shoulder and the other looks back down, recalled to the present by no more than that touch against his sleeve.

Joseph nods. “Do your best,” he says. “If we’re right we’ll have a chance to take Dio out today.” He works his shoulders into a shrug. “If we’re wrong, we’ll do our best to fight another day.” He extends a hand to the middle of the circle they are all forming; everyone else reaches out in turn. Jotaro’s hand ends up atop Kakyoin’s; he can feel the heat of the other’s body under his touch for the moment they linger like that. Then Joseph drops his hand with as much force as if it’s a command, swinging it down before he reaches to the back of his belt to unfasten the holster of his Dominator. That’s the only sign they get; Avdol moves forward immediately, taking up his position at the front, and when Kakyoin follows him Jotaro falls into pace behind him to leave Polnareff and Joseph to bring up the rear.

The office doors are locked, of course. The city records show the building as being available for rent, though all efforts to get in touch with the supposed owners have resulted in answering services and a complete absence of returned calls. But they are bearing Dominators, and the panes of heavy glass that form the front doors are hardly a barrier to them. Avdol takes a shot from close-up, to Disintegrate just the latches holding the door closed at top and bottom without shattering the glass itself, and then he pulls one open manually and holds it there so the other four can slip inside and continue into the building.

They take the stairs. There is a row of elevators along one side of the lobby but they are as sealed as the front doors, and destroying their components is hardly going to turn them operational. When they come through Kakyoin leads the way down a back corridor, along a narrow hallway that illuminates ahead of them by obedient occupancy sensors before he pushes open a heavy metal door so they can all five come into the bottom floor of a long, rising span of stairs. They gather at the bottom, the five of them forming a circle as they gaze up, until Avdol clears his throat to speak.

“I recommend the topmost,” he says. “Dio prefers positions of power. The highest level will be most to his tastes.”

Kakyoin shakes his head. “I agree,” he says. “But these stairs only go to the second-highest floor in the blueprint. The top was added later and has a different staircase leading up to it.”

Polnareff grimaces. “That’s not really safe, is it?”

“Maybe it’ll work in our favor,” Joseph says. “Let’s go as high as we can, then. We’ll see how things go from there once we’re in.” Avdol nods and steps up onto the stairs, and the rest of them follow behind him to begin the long climb over the dozens of floors rising sky-high above them.

Avdol sets a steady pace. Jotaro’s legs burn with the effort of climbing, his footfalls land with the full force of his weight at each stair, but his breathing stays level, and even Joseph at the back of the group seems to have no difficulty in keeping up. Polnareff falls back after a few flights, to struggle up the levels at Joseph’s side; Kakyoin stays just ahead of Jotaro, his head turned up and his hands steady on the Dominator he has drawn and is holding in front of him. Jotaro follows the line of the other’s shoulders, fixing his gaze to the back of Kakyoin’s jacket as they climb, and his thoughts wander down idle paths while his attention stays focused for any stray sound beyond the rhythm of their footsteps against the stairs.

They make the climb in complete peace, but for the dull hum of their steps rising over the flights to take them to the top of the building. Polnareff is out of breath by the time they draw together at the topmost landing of the stairs, and if Jotaro’s breathing is still steady it is more from force of will than actual comfort. The burn in his legs has long since retreated to a distant numbness that he’s sure he’ll feel in the form of aching knots over the next few days; for now it’s a relief just to be holding still, pausing in the upward ascent that seemed endless over the last length of time that they’ve been climbing. They collect together, forming to a circle as if to share instructions again, but they all know the plan and there’s no need to speak. Joseph reaches out to clap a hand to Avdol’s shoulder, and Jotaro shares a glance with Polnareff, looking rather more flushed and breathless than he habitually does; then Joseph steps back to reach for his communicator, and Kakyoin moves forward to stand alongside Jotaro at the door to the interior of the office. Jotaro braces a hand against the weight, steadying himself in expectation as Kakyoin lifts his Dominator to aim at the latch; then Kakyoin squeezes the trigger, the resistance of the lock disintegrates, and they are moving at once, Kakyoin striding forward to slip through the door almost before Jotaro has had time to pull it open. Jotaro follows on his heels, holding close to the other’s shadow as Avdol reaches to hold the door open behind him, and then they’re moving forward into the space of the office building.

It’s silent within. Jotaro’s ears are ringing from the sound of their ascent up the stairs, where even the more careful footfalls redoubled off the cement walls to form a roaring, endless sound like the ocean splashing against a cliff; the muffled silence that comes with the weight of the carpet underfoot softening their footfalls feels oppressive and tense in comparison. Behind them Polnareff follows Avdol through the door, with Joseph taking up the rear as he finishes calling for the medical team’s support; they move to the left, leaving Jotaro and Kakyoin to move forward with matched care down the length of the right-hand corridor.

The floor is a maze of partitions, partial walls that rise to Jotaro’s eye level and some that reach all the way to the ceiling overhead. They studied the layout of the fixed walls that were available on the architectural designs for the building but there is no way to deal with the temporary separations; the best they can do is to pick their way through them in pursuit of the connecting staircase to the highest floor above. The walls break up their lines of sight, limiting them to no more than the next few feet as they take another turning to continue down a further hallway. Jotaro softens his footsteps, placing his feet as gently as he can against the carpet to muffle the sound he makes; Kakyoin must be doing the same, Jotaro can’t hear anything other than the soft sound of the other’s breathing to indicate his presence. They move together down the hallway, shoulder-to-shoulder as they proceed along the path, until they reach a juncture that opens up to the left, in the direction of the other three Jotaro can hear at some great distance, or to the right, towards one of the huge glass windows that make up the outside of the building.

Kakyoin pauses. Jotaro draws to a halt alongside him; they both hesitate for a moment as they consider the paths on either side. There’s nothing to distinguish the two of them, no particular reason to choose one over the other; when there’s a strange _twang_ ing noise and a sudden shout, Polnareff’s nasal tone cutting like a knife through the silence of the office around them. It’s a wordless sound, a note of incoherence; but the panic on it is audible without needing the clarity of speech. Kakyoin and Jotaro look at each other for a moment; then Kakyoin turns to the left, and Jotaro comes forward to follow hard on his heels.

“Jotaro!” That’s Avdol’s voice, sounding like a gong as he shouts at full volume through the office. “Kakyoin! Stay where you are!”

“Don’t move!” Joseph, falling back into his usual crisp presentation. “It’s the hallways, they’re--” and there’s another of those strange noises, a _snap_ in the air like a string on an instrument breaking, and Kakyoin reels back to fall almost into Jotaro’s arms with a strangled yelp of pain.

“ _Kakyoin!_ ” Jotaro has his Dominator unholstered and braced between his hands; he lets one go, reflex directing him to grab at Kakyoin’s shoulder as the other collapses against him. He glances down for a moment but training overrides instinct almost at once to bring his gaze back out in front of them, scanning the few feet of space ahead for the possibility of danger. His Dominator comes up, his scanner sweeping over the distance ahead of them; but there’s nothing, no beep of recognition from the weapon finding an enemy, just that lingering sound thrumming in the air like the aftershock of the tension of silence giving way.

“There’s no one,” Kakyoin says, and Jotaro looks down to the other. Kakyoin is taking some of his own weight on his feet again, resuming his balance as he reaches to grab at Jotaro’s shoulder and steady himself; but his hold is clumsy, fumbling blind as he presses his other hand over his face, and there’s dark spilling through the weight of his fingers over his eyes. “It was a trap, Jotaro.”

Jotaro looks back down the hallway, grimacing frustration; but Kakyoin’s right, the space is empty, and the only sound he can hear now is the ragged edge of their breathing. He pushes his Dominator back into its holster one-handed so he can get a better hold on Kakyoin’s shoulders and lower him to the ground. Kakyoin goes willingly, although he keeps his hand bracing at Jotaro’s forearm as if to steady himself until he’s leaning back against one of the temporary partitions that form the sides of the space down which they were walking.

“What was it?” Jotaro asks. He’s speaking softly in consideration of the quiet that has fallen back over the office; the partitions seem to absorb the sound of his voice, until he’s sure the group on the other side of the space won’t be able to hear more than the faintest murmur of their presence.

“Wires.” Kakyoin has his head braced against the wall behind him and his hand still pressing over his eyes. The blood is trickling past his fingers all the same; one path is sliding across his cheek as if to take the route of a tear. Another is winding down his sleeve to soak into the cuff of his jacket. “There are thin wires set up across the hallway. When I walked into one it broke and snapped across my face as the tension gave way.”

Jotaro grimaces again, though the expression goes unseen, and reaches to touch his fingers beneath the line of Kakyoin’s wrist. Kakyoin lifts his hand away obediently; even with his eyes shut his face is smeared with blood, and however calm his voice is his jaw is set on pain Jotaro can hear hissing under the deliberate composure of his breathing. Jotaro looks down the hallway again, the winding corridors and possible dangers, and then back to Kakyoin. “Can you open your eyes?”

Kakyoin jerks his head in negation. “I think I had better not.”

Jotaro looks at him for a moment, his heart aching as the words he needs to say stick in his chest. “Kakyoin--”

“Use your Dominator,” Kakyoin cuts over him. “The scanner should catch against the wires and let you see them, if you go slowly.” He tips his head in Jotaro’s direction and curves his mouth onto a careful smile. “I’ll let the med team know where you’ve gone, when they get here.”

Jotaro ducks his head forward. He knows Kakyoin’s right. He can hardly take the other with him when he can’t see where they’re going; he’ll be no more than a liability, making them together worse than Jotaro alone. But the thought of leaving him isolated and bleeding, without any means to defend himself if he should be found by any of their enemies, is more than Jotaro can bear for a moment. He has to steel himself to move at all, and then it’s to reach for the pocket of his coat.

“Here.” He draws free the familiar square of fabric, shaking it out and folding it in over itself so he can reach out and press it to Kakyoin’s eyes. Kakyoin lifts a hand to take over holding it and Jotaro draws back. “Keep your Dominator with you. Fire at anything you hear.”

Kakyoin nods. “I will,” he promises. His fingers slide against the fabric, leaving sticky prints in their wake as he huffs a laugh. “It’s almost not worth getting the stains out of it, is it?”

Jotaro looks at Kakyoin: blinded, bleeding, pressing a handkerchief to cover his injured eyes while he musters a smile for Jotaro’s sake. His fingers tighten at his side; and then he reaches out to slide his fingers into Kakyoin’s hair and hold the other still as he leans in. His lips touch Kakyoin’s forehead, pressing a kiss atop the few strands of hair straying across the other’s skin, before he pulls away over his heels.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “I’ll deal with this. You’ll see me again.”

Kakyoin reaches out with his free hand. His fingers bump against Jotaro’s face, skimming the other’s skin before he draws down to grip hard at his shoulder. “I will.” Then he drops his hand, reaching out for the Dominator lying at the floor next to him, and Jotaro rises to his feet to turn and look down the corridor. The space is full of shadows, enough to hide any number of dangers, but Jotaro just turns on his Dominator, and lifts it in front of him, and strides down the hallway with the blue glow of the scanner to illuminate his path forward.


	27. Entrance

Jotaro rejoins the other three at the far side of the meandering hallways. He’s had to go slowly by necessity, keeping his eyes wide and focused on the flicker of blue light catching at the whisper-thin wires stretched to thrumming tension across the pathways before him, but he gets the trick of it quickly, of shifting his gaze from side to side the better to catch the peripheral-vision glitter of light. Some of the wires he ducks under, or steps over, careful to not brush them with so much as the toe of his boot; others he just fires at, lining up his Dominator until it can get a read on the hair-thin line before him and fire a bolt to disintegrate the wire to dust before it can snap into a razor-edged weapon. Jotaro can stride through the hallways with a steady pace, albeit a slower one than the thud of adrenaline in his veins is demanding, until finally he rounds a corner and almost walks into the rest of the team.

Polnareff is sitting on the floor, Avdol crouching in front of him in the act of tying off a strip of fabric bound tight around his ankle. There’s a splash of blood across the floor and the curled ends of a broken wire at the partition on either side, but other than the injury tightening Polnareff’s mouth on held-back pain the rest of them appear unharmed in the glance Jotaro gives them. Joseph turns at Jotaro’s approach, pivoting with his Dominator held tight in front of him; the tension in his shoulders eases as he sees the other’s face and lets the first panic of adrenaline go.

“Jotaro,” he says, the word heavy with relief, but his attention is sliding over Jotaro’s shoulder already, his mouth tightening back down on the force of a frown as he drops back into the anticipation of the moment. “Where’s Kakyoin?”

“He got hit,” Jotaro says. Polnareff hisses and Avdol glances up; Jotaro shakes his head in answer to the unspoken alarm in their gazes. “He’ll be okay. It got him across the face, though. He can’t open his eyes.”

Joseph clicks his tongue. “One out and we’ve barely even run into them,” he grumbles as he looks down at Polnareff. “Maybe two.”

“No way,” Polnareff says. His voice is strained on hurt and his face is whiter even than usual, but there’s no flinching in his gaze as he looks up to meet Joseph’s consideration. “I’m not out of this yet. I’m coming with you.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. “Can you walk?”

“I believe he can.” That’s Avdol, speaking with the level sincerity that always gives his words such weight. He tugs tight against the bandage around Polnareff’s ankle and leans back so he can rise to his feet and extend a hand down towards the other. “Try putting weight on that now.”

Polnareff sets his jaw and reaches to clasp Avdol’s hand. Jotaro can see the effort in Avdol’s shoulder as the other takes the greater part of Polnareff’s weight in drawing him to his feet, and even with his jaw set tight Polnareff’s breath hisses to a whine in his nose at the pain of rising, but once upright he stays there on his own strength, even when Avdol lets his hand go entirely. He keeps his head ducked down for a moment, frowning at the floor beneath him as his balance wobbles fractionally, until he lifts his head to look first at Jotaro and then to Joseph.

Joseph shrugs and shakes his head. “It’ll have to be good enough,” he says, and looks back to Jotaro. “How did you get here from the other side of the space? We’ve been afraid to move forward at all.”

“The scanner,” Jotaro says, and lifts his Dominator to demonstrate. “The light catches the wire and you can just see them out of the corner of your eye.” He tips his head, casting his gaze sideways to consider the play of the light over the corridor in front of them. “There’s one right in front of you, there.”

Joseph turns to frown into the illuminated blue. “Where?”

“Right across the middle,” Jotaro says. “Turn your head to the side, it makes it easier.” Joseph attempts this, as does Avdol after a moment, but neither of their expressions clear.

“Are you sure you see them?” Polnareff asks. “I don’t see anything.”

Joseph stretches out in front of him, testing the space with the end of his Dominator. Jotaro can see the weapon swing down to brush against the taut wire and is braced against the snapping _twang_ of it giving way; everyone else jumps backwards, startled even as the backlash from the wire stays well clear of them.

Avdol clears his throat. “Perhaps you ought to take the lead to the stairway, Inspector.”

“Took the words out of my mouth,” Joseph says, and steps aside with a flourish to cede the lead to Jotaro. Jotaro rolls his eyes but accepts the position all the same, striding forward into the now-clear pathway as he lifts his Dominator to resume scanning the next section ahead of them.

They move not quite as quickly as Jotaro did alone. He’s getting better at spotting the wires, he thinks, quicker at pinning them down in the targeting system of his Dominator, but Joseph keeps catching at his shoulder to express uncertainty that he is actually seeing the dangers in front of them, and Polnareff’s pace is dragging with effort no matter how hard he tries to hide it. By the time they reach the doorway to the stairs leading up to the last level Jotaro is tense with frustration and anticipation in about equal measures, and Polnareff has given up his show of independence to lean hard against the support of Avdol’s shoulder.

They emerge from the maze of the office partitions and out into a landing for another staircase, this one wider and more elegant than the industrial cement that formed the first several dozen flights of stairs they climbed. The walls are paneled, here, and they muffle the sound of their entrance to a dull murmur instead of the raw echo it was in the other space. Jotaro sweeps his Dominator beam up across the space in front of them, frowning at the glitter of uninterrupted blue before he lowers the weapon to his side again and shakes his head. “It’s clear.”

Polnareff groans. “I wouldn’t mind never going up another flight of stairs again,” he complains.

“You could avoid this one, if you wish,” Avdol points out. “We could leave you to be collected by the medical team and returned to the Bureau for treatment. I’m sure the rest of us can see the mission through on our own.”

“Not on your life,” Polnareff says. “I have a score to settle with this Dio guy.”

“You’re not the only one,” Joseph growls. “Let’s go.” And he strides forward towards the stairs. Jotaro matches him, taking the steps in sync with his grandfather, while behind them Avdol and Polnareff follow with surprising speed, given Polnareff’s injury.

It’s a short flight of stairs. They’re only ascending a single level; in comparison with the endless rise of steps they’ve already climbed today, it seems as if they make it to the top almost as soon as they’ve begun. There’s another door there, heavy and formed of what appears to be solid wood; a luxury wholly out-of-keeping with the businesslike utility of the rest of the building. Joseph stops at the top, standing to the side of the entrance; Jotaro pulls back to some distance in front of where the door will open, waiting for Avdol and Polnareff to mount the last few steps. They make the top rapidly, Polnareff sweating but with his eyes fever-bright with anticipation, and Avdol steps forward as soon as they are all together. 

“Are we ready?” Avdol asks. There are nods from the rest of them, even from Polnareff, and Avdol dips his head into acknowledgment. “Very well.” He tightens his hand on the door handle, fixing himself to intention as he draws a breath; and then he turns the handle, which gives way without any visible resistance, and pulls the door open.

The explosion is immediate. It’s a burst of light, brilliant and blinding in the split-second before the roar of sound follows on its heels; Jotaro is standing behind the door, instead of in front of it as the others are, and he still feels the pain of the too-much illumination lance through his head and steal his vision with the weight of instantaneous tears. He jerks away, flinching back instinctively from the burst; but it’s done, by the time he’s moving there is nothing left but smoke and the warped weight of the door blown outward by the explosion. Everything is dark after the absence of the explosive light, as Jotaro’s eyes burn and string with their effort to see, and his ears are hardly better for the first moment of roaring noise; but he can hear a voice all the same, jumping to a high, piercing volume that throbs like a headache against his temple.

“ _Avdol!_ ” Jotaro knows that voice, recognizes the nasal whine against the highest points of the vowels; and he knows the panic beneath it, that sound of terror so great to have clutched a fist around the throat of the speaker. He blinks hard, gives up one supporting hand at his weapon so he can rub fiercely at his eyes; and his vision clears along with the worst of the smoke to give him back his sight.

Polnareff is sprawled over the top several stairs, his effort of climbing undone by the effect of the explosion; his leg is pinned at an angle that makes Jotaro flinch just to see, but Polnareff is paying no attention to what must be a bone broken by his backwards motion. He’s clutching at the front of Avdol’s jacket, his eyes wide and wet with tears as he shouts the other’s name as if volume is likely to wake him. Avdol shows no signs of responding to his panic; he’s utterly still, flung back by the force of whatever exploded into his face and with the front of his uniform and face blackened by the charred remnants of the burst. Joseph is to the side, pushed up against the wall instead of tossed backwards by it; he’s moving, Jotaro is relieved to see, but there’s a smear of red at the wall behind him, and his silver hair is stained crimson where a trickle of blood is wandering across his scalp.

Jotaro stares at the other three, all of them incapacitated by injury or panic; and then he turns back towards the shattered-open door. His Dominator is still in his hands, the weight of it still solid in his grip; his vision is clearing, too, coming back under his control as his hearing eases from the dull roar of pain that followed the explosion. He looks back to Joseph, lying collapsed against the wall; and finds his grandfather looking back at him, his eyes open and gaze clear even if the movement of his hand lifting to press to his head is shaky with uncertainty. They stare at each other for a moment, neither of them speaking; then Joseph lifts his hand to gesture towards the open door with the tips of his fingers. It’s a tiny motion but Jotaro is looking right at him, and he understands what weight it carries. He tracks the action of Joseph’s fingers, reading meaning into them before looking back to his grandfather’s face. Jotaro ducks his head into a nod of silent understanding, and he sees Joseph’s mouth curve up onto a smile before he turns to step forward through the shattered door and into the topmost level of the building.


	28. Supremacy

It’s dark as Jotaro steps through the open doorway to the topmost floor of the building. Part of that is his vision, he’s sure; he’s still blinking away the flash from the explosion that blew the door wide of its frame and took out the rest of the team behind him. But the room is strangely lit as well, illuminated by lights set into the corners of the space to flicker like open candleflames and cast odd shadows over the rest of the floor. There is very little to catch the glimmers of light playing over the space, none of the furniture or office workstations that were present in the floor below. The top level seems to be primarily a vast, empty space, draped in shadows deepened by the windowless effects of the lighting. Jotaro pauses in the doorway, his attention distracted by the sheer space around him; and then there’s a purr of a laugh, strange and loud as it echoes off the roof overhead, and he twists at once, raising his Dominator to seek out a target for the source of that spine-chilling sound.

“You’ve made it at last.” The voice is as rich as the laugh, low and dark like it’s made of the shadows playing across the floor at Jotaro’s feet. Jotaro turns, attempting to track the source, but the open space is casting the words to echoes that make it impossible to pin down the location of the speaker, and he can see no motion to indicate that he has any company at all. “I had wondered how long I would have to wait before the Bureau was finally able to catch up to me.” There’s the sound of footsteps, heavy and solid against the floor beneath Jotaro’s feet, but when he pivots to face where he thinks they are coming from there is nothing to see but the dusty darkness of the empty space around him. “Kujo Jotaro, is it? Your grandfather has been tracking me for decades.” There’s another purr of a laugh, low and self-satisfied. “It must gall him to be denied his victory at the last moment.”

Jotaro sets his jaw. “I’ll get him his victory,” he says. The space around him seems to swallow his voice rather than bouncing it back to reverberate on itself. He turns to sweep his attention over the floor around him, eyes wide for motion or the glitter of one of those tight-drawn wires as he paces carefully forward into the vast space. “He knows he can count on me.”

“Indeed,” the voice says. Jotaro doesn’t need an introduction to know who it is he is speaking to, who he must be facing here, finally, at the end of everything; there was only ever one person who would be standing in this room, only one face that could go with the sultry taunt of that voice. “Your whole team is counting on you, it seems.” Another throaty laugh rebounds from the walls to wrap around Jotaro like an unwelcome embrace. Jotaro sets his jaw and grimaces against the force of it. “Your Enforcers did their job, anyway. That’s what they’re there for, right? To take the blows for you Inspectors and be tossed aside so you can sweep in and take all the glory for yourself.”

Jotaro hisses past his teeth. “That’s not what they’re for.”

“No?” The footsteps return; Jotaro twists, seeking a line of sight for his target, but there’s nothing around him, just the expanse of the space stretching out as he paces carefully towards the middle of the room. “I thought they were supposed to train you Inspectors better. Enforcers are no better than human shields, for your psyche as much as your body. You won’t make it far if you’re not willing to sacrifice them to protect yourself.”

“I’m not sacrificing anybody,” Jotaro grates. “I’m going to deal with you, and then all five of us are leaving this place together.”

“What a lovely sentiment,” Dio croons. “So how do you intend to deal with me, Inspector?” Jotaro catches a flicker of motion from the corner of his eye and pivots sharply to face a figure emerging from the shadows draped around him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, the gold of his hair glinting to bronze in the low light; Jotaro thinks he would know him from the predatory sway to his walk as much as from the bone-deep, instinctive recognition in him that seethes at what his mind recognizes as his natural enemy. Dio lifts his chin to cast the light of the room over his features; when he smiles it looks like nothing so much as a baring of his teeth. “Give me your best shot.”

Jotaro doesn’t hesitate. There is a chilling threat in Dio’s words, a weight that he can feel pressing down against him like a hand trying to crush him to the floor, to bear him to his knees to offer surrender; but his body is moving on instinct, responding with a reflex he has drilled into himself over those long nights at the Bureau alone, when there was nothing to fill his exhaustion-fogged thoughts but the repetition of physical effort. His hands come up, his grip fixes tight on the Dominator in his hands as he points it straight at Dio in front of him; and the weapon hums protest, the end closing itself off instead of building to the buzz of threatening electricity.

 _“Dio Brando,”_ the Dominator says in a calm, level tone. _“Crime Coefficient 23.”_ Jotaro’s attention drops to the identification screen, his focus knocked apart by surprise in spite of himself, and Dio laughs again, a low sound that seems to bubble up from the depths of his chest.

“Your System is a joke,” he informs Jotaro. “It boxes everyone it sees, places them in categories for sane and not-sane, safe and not-safe.” He comes forward, striding across the floor in front of Jotaro like he’s pacing across a stage in front of a trapped audience. “It takes so little to slip. A vicious thought, a painful loss. Your Enforcers could tell you all about that, how quickly the System turned them into animals to be locked away in cages. Except when they can be of use.” He pivots to return his attention to Jotaro. “ _You_ know yourself, don’t you?” His smile flashes white in the darkness. “You saw one Enforcer die and you lost all that beautiful composure overnight.”

Jotaro’s fingers tighten against the handle of his weapon. “He didn’t die,” he says. “And Kakyoin is none of your business.”

“No?” Dio laughs. “He was my business first, you know. I never expected him to make a pet of himself just for what little freedom your System will allow him to hold onto, but I suppose you just never know how weak some people will turn out to be.”

“He’s not weak,” Jotaro says. “None of us are.”

“And yet you have no way to deal with someone like _me_ ,” Dio says, audibly relishing the drag of the words as he delivers them. “I’m above your Enforcers, above the Inspectors, above even your precious Sybil System.” He extends his arms to the sides, holding them out as he lifts his chin to let the light flicker freely across his features. “I’m _untouchable_.”

“Yeah?” Jotaro says. “Let’s see.” And he brings his Dominator up, lifting it by the handle to draw back over his shoulder before he throws it across the distance to Dio several feet away. Dio’s chin comes down, his eyes going wide with surprise, but Jotaro is moving without waiting to see the weight of the projectile hit. He’s charging forward as soon as the Dominator leaves his hands, surging into action to take what advantage he can find from Dio’s brief surprise. The Dominator slams into the other’s shoulder, hitting hard enough to send Dio stumbling backwards with a hiss of irritated pain, and Jotaro follows immediately after, twisting sideways so he can throw the whole weight of his body solidly behind the angle of his shoulder swinging in towards Dio. Dio falls backwards, knocked right off his feet by the impact so soon after the Dominator hitting him, and they tumble to the ground, Jotaro landing heavily atop Dio as they go.

Dio hisses again, the sound whistling in the back of his throat into something raw and feral by the time it tears past his teeth. “Get _off_ me,” he grates, and when he swings his hand into a punch Jotaro feels the impact jolt through his whole body, blowing the air from his lungs and stabbing pain in against his ribs. He slides sideways, his hold forced free in spite of himself by the brutality of Dio’s blow, and Dio surges up over him, rising onto a knee as he bares his teeth into a savage grin.

“You’re useless,” he says, growling the words past his set teeth as he slams another blow into Jotaro’s ribs, on the opposite side, and then a hit against his temple so hard Jotaro is only saved from unconsciousness by the wall he makes of his arms in front of his face. His head is still knocked to the side, his focus thrown well clear of his mind, and in the moment it takes him to collect himself Dio hits him again, right atop the impact of his first punch. Jotaro groans, agony spilling from him at the stabbing pain of broken ribs, and Dio laughs in the shadows cast by the lights around them. “You Inspectors, you walk around with your Dominators like they make you powerful, like the System you idolize is going to keep you _safe_.” Another punch lands, at Jotaro’s upraised arm this time; something cracks, stability giving way to nauseating pain that Jotaro grits his teeth against without setting his groan of hurt free from his chest. “But there’s no protection that will save you from me. No one will rescue you, no System will help you.” Dio rocks back on his heels, laughing blood-bright as Jotaro’s body throbs with pain. “You’re all alone.”

Jotaro draws a breath through his nose. His chest aches; he can’t draw a deep breath, doesn’t dare risk the stabbing pain from his surely-broken ribs. His vision is blurred; it’s hard to focus on Dio over him, and squinting to bring his gaze to clarity only makes his head throb with a piercing headache. But Dio has ceased hitting him, at least for a moment, and in the peace that comes with that Jotaro can at least fill his lungs to speak.

“Yeah,” he says, gritting the word past his teeth. “Guess I am.” He lowers his arms from where they have been angled up to protect his face; one radiates pain as he moves it, and he lets himself favor it, grimacing with the hurt as his other drops out into the shadows next to him. Dio is grinning at him, delighted by his own cleverness, savoring his assured victory; Jotaro holds his gaze without glancing away to break the connection between them.

“I’ll have to do it myself,” he says, and then he swings his good arm back up with all the strength in his body behind the blow he levels at the side of Dio’s head. Dio starts to look, his attention draw across by the motion of Jotaro’s arm, and so it is that the handle of the retrieved Dominator in Jotaro’s hold smashes directly into the other’s face. Jotaro feels Dio’s nose give way, shattering beneath the desperate force of the blow he has landed, and he doesn’t need to see clearly to hear the gurgle of shocked agony that spills from the other’s throat past the curtain of blood that rushes from his nose. Dio topples backwards, falling sideways to the floor, and Jotaro forces himself up, ignoring the pain from his ribs so he can get height enough to swing the Dominator in against the side of Dio’s skull. The impact lands solidly, cracking hard enough to knock the other’s head to the side, and Dio goes limp, the strength in his body evaporating to collapse him to slack weight at the floor beneath them. Jotaro forces his dizzy vision to focus on the play of light across Dio’s fallen form, watching for any motion to indicate the other’s return to consciousness; then there’s the scuff of a step at the doorway, and Jotaro jerks around, bringing the Dominator up to aim at the outline of the missing door.

The figure standing there holds one hand up, lifting it higher as if to make up for the grip he is still maintaining at the edge of the doorframe, but Jotaro doesn’t need the sign; even with the soot of the explosion smudged over his features he can recognize Polnareff’s unique hair. He’s lowering the Dominator even as the electronic voice is declaring the Enforcer’s identity and shifting into Paralyzer mode. “Hey.”

Polnareff ducks his head into a nod, but his attention is drifting to Dio collapsed at Jotaro’s side. “Did you--” He pauses to cough violently and spit onto the floor alongside him. “Is it over?”

Jotaro gusts a breath. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s over.” Polnareff looks back to him, his eyes wide with shock too strong to allow space for relief; behind him Jotaro can hear the murmur of Joseph’s voice, slow and struggling but clearly his grandfather, and there’s even the beginnings of motion from the hazy figure of Avdol. Focusing his eyes is a struggle he can feel throb at his temples; and the rest of his body is beginning to protest too, broken bones and strained muscle rising to the forefront of his attention as the adrenaline of combat begins to ebb. Jotaro grimaces as his cracked ribs flare pain with an unwary breath, and then again as the reflexive motion of his hand to his side stabs agony up his broken arm. “Is someone calling for the medical team?”

Polnareff jerks his head into a nod. “Joestar’s telling them to come in right now.”

“Good,” Jotaro says. “Tell them to not forget Kakyoin.” And he tips back, lowering himself back to the floor with more speed than grace. The impact jolts through his whole body and hisses air past his gritted teeth, but then he’s lying down and can relax as much as his injuries will allow him. Jotaro draws a breath through his nose, and lets it out the same way, and then he shuts his eyes and lets himself linger in the relief of victory while he waits for the medical team to make their way to them.


	29. Reunion

Jotaro is taken straight back to the Bureau infirmary as soon as the medical team arrives. He keeps an eye on the criminal next to him, just in case Dio shows any signs of stirring back to consciousness, but Dio doesn’t move however carefully Jotaro forces himself to look, and then the team spills into the room and Jotaro gives up his vigil in exchange for being carried back down to the ground floor by a team of four that cluster as close around him as if he’s likely to expire before they can get him back to headquarters. Jotaro thinks their concern is unnecessary -- however badly his ribs hurt, he can still walk on his own power, and his blurry vision is counteracted by a tight grip at the stair railing with his unbroken arm -- but he lacks the energy to protest, and in his silence he is hurried away without a chance to get answers to any of the questions he has about Dio’s fate, or Avdol’s health, or Joseph’s recovery. Jotaro glances into the shadows of the office as they pass through the maze of partitions, looking for the space where he left Kakyoin; but there’s no sign of the other, and he is forced to let himself be swept away for treatment of his own injuries before the team will answer his questions about the status of his other team members.

He’s in the infirmary overnight. His broken bones are easily mended, even if he’ll have to be careful with his movements for a few days and is warned away from any kind of physical exertion for a week at least; but the bruises and swelling around them are left to heal in their own time. It’s the blow to his head that the doctors are most concerned about, and the possible damage to his Coefficient of being in such a close-quarters physical altercation; but Jotaro passes every test he’s put through without so much as a hiccup in his Coefficient, and after the first night passes with no evident memory loss the nurses all unbend a little from their hovering concern. He’s kept under observation for the next several hours, just to be certain of the initial results they are seeing, and he is sternly ordered to report back to remain under watch rather than returning to his own apartment that night, but then he is set free of his hospital bed and allowed to go in pursuit of answers to his own more personal concerns.

Everyone made it back. Jotaro is grateful to find Avdol in a hospital room of his own, attended by a Polnareff who evidently refuses to remain in his own assigned space; Joseph is there too, alert and as loud as ever if leaning heavily on the cane he insists he doesn’t need. Jotaro refrains from commenting on the pronounced limp in his grandfather’s left leg from the damage he took in the explosion. Instead he presses a hand to Joseph’s shoulder, weighting his touch with the force of unspoken affection before he turns to clasp Polnareff’s hand and touch against Avdol’s arm, gently so he doesn’t disrupt the variety of wires and tubes working to return the other to health. Jotaro lingers for a few minutes, long enough to accept the congratulations of the others and their happiness for his rapid recovery, and then Polnareff and Avdol start bickering over some minor detail, and Joseph cuts in to offer his own unasked-for perspective, and Jotaro steps back so he can slip out of the door and continue down the hallway to his true goal.

Kakyoin was brought back before the rest of them. Jotaro was able to gain that much information from his nurses, after they realized that a lack of response was more likely to heighten his concern than ease it. He was on his way back to the Bureau before Joseph had yet made the call for the team to collect the rest of them, and his injuries were hardly severe enough to threaten his chances of survival. That was enough to ease the worst of Jotaro’s fears, and with his concern soothed his nurses were adamant about the priority of his own recovery. Jotaro had submitted to this, however much he rolled his eyes, content to wait for more information until he has the means to obtain it himself; as he now, finally, does.

Kakyoin’s room is far more quiet than Avdol’s. There is a bouquet of flowers set up in the corner, lush enough to fill the whole room with a faint perfume; Jotaro sees Joseph’s hand in that, and Polnareff’s in the can of coffee set at the edge of the tray alongside the bed. But the room is still when Jotaro eases the door open to step inside, with no other occupants but Kakyoin himself lying back against the support of the bed behind him. His eyes are bandaged, his position so relaxed Jotaro isn’t sure for a moment if he’s awake or asleep, but his lips curve as soon as Jotaro steps through the doorway, his head turning to track the sound of the other’s entrance.

“Jotaro,” Kakyoin says rather than asks. “It’s good to see you.” He pauses and catches himself into a huff of a laugh. “Well. It’s good to hear you, I guess.”

Jotaro’s throat is tight, clenched to stifle any words he might have intended to give. He has to take a breath before he can speak, and even then he can only manage minimal acknowledgment. “Kakyoin.”

Kakyoin shifts at the bed, pushing an elbow against the sheets beneath him so he can urge himself to sit more upright at the support and reach out into the open space between himself and Jotaro. Jotaro steps forward in answer, lifting his uninjured arm so he can close his fingers around Kakyoin’s hand, and Kakyoin tightens his own hold and turns his head up to smile at Jotaro.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Kakyoin says. “Inspector Joestar said that you were going to be fine but it’s good to know it for myself all the same.”

Jotaro ducks his head into a nod, then remembers that Kakyoin won’t be able to see the motion. “Yeah.” He looks back to Kakyoin’s face, his attention lingering on the white of the bandage bound over the other’s eyes and around the color of his hair. His fingers flex tighter around Kakyoin’s hand in his. “Did they replace your eyes?”

Kakyoin shakes his head. “No,” he says. “They said there’s some damage and it’s going to take time to heal. There’s not a lot they can do to speed that up. It actually would have been faster if I had needed to have them replaced outright.” He shrugs. “But they’re healing. Something could still go wrong, of course, but everything’s been smooth so far. If this keeps up I should be good as new, except for the scars.”

“Oh.” Jotaro’s chest feels tight; it’s hard to breathe and harder to speak. He stares at Kakyoin’s face; his thumb presses against the other’s skin, seeking traction for his thoughts from the warmth of Kakyoin’s hand in his. “Good.” He clears his throat. “I’m glad.” He pauses for a moment, made hesitant by the rush of his heart pounding in his chest and the tension he can feel clenching his hand too-tight around Kakyoin’s clasped in his grip; and then he takes a breath and leans in towards Kakyoin’s upturned face.

Kakyoin doesn’t tense at the touch of Jotaro’s lips to his. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as draw a startled inhale; he just turns up to the contact, his mouth going as soft as if he could sense the other’s approach, as if Jotaro had announced his intention directly before leaning in to claim it. His head tips, his mouth softens, and Jotaro lifts his healing arm from his side to touch careful fingers against Kakyoin’s hair, as much to trail over the soft of the strands as to steady the weight of the other’s head. Kakyoin’s mouth shifts against his, curving towards what Jotaro thinks is a smile, and he responds in kind, raising his free hand to stroke and settle against the back of Jotaro’s neck. His hand is warm, his touch absolutely steady; Jotaro tightens his grip at Kakyoin’s hand in turn, reaching for some part of the composure with which Kakyoin is responding to his kiss. Kakyoin pulls against their clasped hands, urging Jotaro in closer, pressing for more without demanding it, and Jotaro turns his head to let his mouth go soft and hot against Kakyoin’s.

They stay like that for a long minute: Jotaro’s fingers ghosting over Kakyoin’s hair, Kakyoin’s hold steady at the back of his neck, their hands clasped between them. Kakyoin’s mouth is electric, radiant with a heat Jotaro can feel flowing through the whole of his body to illuminate him to perfect clarity; all he can offer by response is to kiss back, to print the shape of his mouth as close to Kakyoin’s lips as he can. The contact lingers, heat forming and melting between them; and then Kakyoin tips his head back, and Jotaro lets him free so they can draw back by the span of a breath. Jotaro’s pulse is thunder in his veins, his vision hazy, but he still hears the huff of Kakyoin’s laugh, still brings his gaze into focus on the other’s face as Kakyoin draws breath to speak.

“I’ll be here for a while still,” he says. His voice is a little lower than it usually is, a little rougher at the edges; Jotaro is impressed that he’s speaking at all, when all his own words seem to have evaporated right out of his head beneath the persuasion of Kakyoin’s lips. “It’ll be another week or more before I can return to the office.”

Jotaro nods. “Fine,” he manages. “It’s fine.” There’s a pause while he collects the pace of his breathing back around himself and fits the coherency of words to the ache of pressure taut in his chest. “I’ll wait.”

Kakyoin’s smile is brilliant. When he breathes a laugh Jotaro can feel the heat of Kakyoin’s exhale against his mouth. “Good,” he says. “I’m glad.” There’s a pause, a moment while Jotaro’s attention traces Kakyoin’s mouth, while he considers the temptation of leaning back in for more, and then Kakyoin’s touch at his neck softens and slides away to drop to the blanket alongside him instead. He lifts his chin as if to look up at Jotaro in spite of the bandage over his eyes, and when he smiles it comes with a tightening of his hand clasping hard around Jotaro’s. “I’ll see you then.”

Jotaro ducks his head. “Yeah,” he says, and he lets his hold on Kakyoin’s hand ease as he draws his fingers back from the other’s hair. Kakyoin tips his head to the side to lean into the friction of Jotaro’s touch drawing away from him; then Jotaro straightens and turns away to depart with the bright of Kakyoin’s smile to follow him.


	30. Incandescent

Jotaro has the office almost entirely to himself for the next week. Avdol remains in the infirmary, kept under supervision even as all the reports indicate his health is improving as rapidly as can be expected; Polnareff remains there with him, with no protest from Jotaro or Joseph to bring him back to the office. Jotaro suspects Polnareff would be worse than useless if he were to be restricted to the office while his thoughts are entirely elsewhere, and suspects his grandfather to have a clear enough understanding of the situation to allow Polnareff the same downtime Avdol needs for his recovery.

For his part Jotaro is just grateful to the peace and relative comfort the all-but-empty office provides him. There is very little to do at present; with all their Enforcers out of commission their department is off the list for on-call assignments, and Joseph’s grand hunt has been thoroughly concluded with the handing over of Dio to the Sibyl System to be dealt with. There are other members of his gang still floating around the city, Jotaro is sure; but he is on orders to remain in the office, strict enough that he takes Joseph’s threats of repercussions at the other’s word, and his own recovery is still ongoing as well, if mostly tracked through the fading of bruises and easing of the near-constant headaches that haunted him for the first few days. It’s a relief to feel their mission accomplished, to have the tension that had seemed all but permanent loosened; and Jotaro is happy to spend his days at the office, lingering in the strange relieved boredom that comes with the conclusion of some enormous undertaking.

He could spend his days at home, could draw on his ever-accumulating vacation time and retreat to the complete privacy of his apartment; but there’s a comfort to the office, a rhythm to his work days that Jotaro finds himself craving, and so he continues to come in to occupy the quiet with his own presence in the absence of everyone else’s. It’s pleasant, a comfortable place to spend idle hours reviewing old cases and working through the endless reams of security videos there are to be watched; and Jotaro isn’t completely idle, anyway. He may have nothing to do in the moment, no pressing mission to take him out of the office or hold his attention; but he knows what he’s waiting for, and the waiting is an undertaking all in itself.

He’s stayed late, tonight. He usually leaves with the early evening, departing the office and waiting for the transport to take him back to his apartment in the slow-forming shadows of falling night. But he feels strange, today, restless and tense in a way that promises insomnia if he tries to lay claim to sleep, and the repetitive work of scanning videos proves a relief for some part of his stress. He still feels the tension along his spine, the prickle of anxiety rattling at the back of his thoughts; but he can lose himself in each video he scans through, can quiet the demands of his mind for a span of time with the murmur of half-heard conversations and the flicker of identification appearing over figures made blurry by the low resolution of the street scanners. He works consistently, moving from one video to the next without glancing at the clock to see the span of hours drifting past, until he finds himself easing into something like a waking dream, as the distraction of his thoughts retreats to a low hum and the whole of his focus is turned to the task at hand.

He’s ten minutes into his latest recording when he hears it. It’s distant, a faint murmur so far-off he’s not sure of the sound even as his attention jerks up in answer to it; but the sound of his name is enough to pull his focus, even with the impossibility of hearing it here and now. The office is empty around him, the desks as abandoned now as they have been all day, and the hallway outside the doors is dark with the lateness of the hour; but Jotaro still stares for a long moment, his heart pounding faster instead of slower in his chest at this proof of isolation. There is no one there, no one close enough for him to possibly hear what he thought he heard; but it’s heavy seconds before he turns his attention back to the monitor before him, and even then his heart goes on racing with instinctive adrenaline too certain to be chased away by the persuasion of logic.

Jotaro keeps his gaze on the monitor in front of him. It’s difficult to make out the details of the video, even with the assistance of the System-added identification cards that appear next to each of the people captured within; but even with his focus fixed on the screen before him, the illumination of the occupancy sensors brightening the hallway outside is impossible to mistake. The office brightens with the light coming through the glass that faces the hallway, and Jotaro reaches for his touchpad to shift the cursor on his screen and click for greater detail on one of the faces displayed on the video. The video zooms in, expanding to fill the screen in front of him, and the office door draws open, eased into no more than a whisper of friction over the floor by the care with which it is moved. Jotaro keeps his gaze on the monitor, keeps his eyes fixed on the dark of the video playing on his screen, but his attention is all the sound of gentle footsteps making their way across the office. He can see himself in the reflection of his monitor, the steady focus of his expression turned around in the darkest parts of the screen in front of him; and he can see the shift of motion behind instead of in front of him, as Kakyoin draws in to stand over his shoulder.

They’re both silent for a moment. Jotaro is gazing at the reflection at his screen, watching the picture they make for the silent observer of his monitor; he can see the way Kakyoin is watching him, with his head tipped down and his eyes so dark and soft that Jotaro can see the affection in them even in the shadowed reflection of the screen. Jotaro doesn’t speak to break the quiet around them, doesn’t so much as lift his head to look up at Kakyoin standing over him. His heart is racing, thundering so hard in his chest he feels it ought to be audible in the space of the office, ought to be echoing off the walls closed around the pair of them, but the roar is only in his own ears, and in the sound of his breathing dragging fast in his lungs in spite of all his efforts to the contrary. They linger in expectation, hovering at the cusp of action; and then Kakyoin lifts his hand, and as his fingers brush Jotaro’s shoulder Jotaro exhales, and shuts his eyes in surrender to the weight of the other’s hand against him.

He can hear the sound of the breath Kakyoin takes, can taste it on his lips as if it’s his own. “Jotaro.” Jotaro ducks his head forward, giving way to the weight of Kakyoin’s voice humming over the sound of his name for a moment; then he lifts his head, and opens his eyes, and he’s turning away from his computer monitor, pushing his chair to pivot him in towards Kakyoin behind him. Kakyoin rocks back to give Jotaro the space to move, to turn in towards him in complete disregard for the video still playing on the monitor, and when Jotaro braces his feet at the floor and lifts his hands to reach Kakyoin leans in at once to fit himself into the hold of the other’s arms and between the open angle of Jotaro’s knees. His fingers slide into Jotaro’s hair, his hands curving to stroke gentle pressure across the other’s scalp, and Jotaro turns his head up as his own hands fit to Kakyoin’s waist. Kakyoin’s knee braces against the top of Jotaro’s thigh, his hands steady at the back of Jotaro’s neck, and as he ducks in Jotaro shuts his eyes and offers the part of his lips to the heat of Kakyoin’s pressing against them.

Kakyoin kisses him carefully, working over each shift of Jotaro’s lips like he means to memorize their action, as if he’s set himself to master the fit of their mouths together and the friction of their bodies pressing one to the other. His hands settle close at the back of Jotaro’s neck, his fingers interlacing to press near to the other’s skin, and Jotaro slides his own hands up Kakyoin’s waist, reaching around to span the line of the other’s back with one hand while the other comes down to steady Kakyoin’s hip. It’s Kakyoin who parts his lips into an invitation against Jotaro’s, who urges them to a deeper kiss, and Jotaro follows this suggestion with ready willingness to taste against the heat of Kakyoin’s tongue working with his own. Kakyoin’s fingers tighten, his shoulders tip farther forward; Jotaro pulls against his back to draw him in, to press Kakyoin closer to him as Kakyoin rocks forward to fit himself to the support of Jotaro’s lap so he’s straddling the other’s thighs with his own. The chair rocks back, protesting the doubled weight of the both of them together tipping into the support it offers, but Jotaro is as lost to the squeak of the furniture as he is to the soft murmur of the video still playing itself out on his computer monitor. All he’s feeling is the heat of Kakyoin against him, fingers and mouth and body all urging him nearer, claiming and wanting in equal measure; his hearing is washed out by the roar of his heartbeat, distracted by the soft plea of heat Kakyoin makes when Jotaro kisses against his lower lip, when Jotaro rocks his hips up to urge them closer.

On the other side of the office windows the hallway dims and darkens, the lights shutting off in the absence of anyone to use them; but Jotaro is lost to the illumination of the heat incandescent in him, and he notices no more than Kakyoin does.


	31. Clarity

They don’t make it out of the office.

Jotaro knows they should. It would be better to retreat to a more secluded space, one of the training rooms where they have access to a lock on the door or maybe even upstairs, where Kakyoin’s quarters as a Bureau Enforcer give him some semblance of privacy. But it’s hard to think of things like privacy when Kakyoin is pressing close against him, impossible to bear the thought of pulling away from the heat of Kakyoin’s mouth working such radiant friction over his own, and in the end Jotaro thinks he would stay right where he is for as long as Kakyoin wants to keep him there.

It’s Kakyoin who draws back in the end, and even then only for a moment, while Jotaro drags breath into his lungs and tries to bring the heat-haze of his vision back into focus. It’s a challenge just from the friction clinging radiant to his lips, and not helped by the slide of Kakyoin’s fingers running through his hair to work the waves back from his forehead and tip Jotaro’s head up to the light and to the warmth of Kakyoin’s smile.

“We might be more comfortable elsewhere,” he observes. He sounds remarkably calm, certainly more level than Jotaro could manage, but his cheeks are flushed to a color only surpassed by the red soft at his mouth, and if his gaze is steady his eyes are heavy-lidded until the violet of his attention is shadowed smokey and hot enough to turn all Jotaro’s blood to steam in his veins. Kakyoin tips his head to make a deliberate point of looking out at the rest of the empty desks around them. “I don’t think we’re going to get interrupted this late at night, but…”

Jotaro ducks his head into a nod, as the fastest way of agreeing while he struggles his voice back into obedience. “Back room,” he manages, rasping over the words so they sound almost like a growl as he pulls them free of his throat. “There’s a couch.”

“Ah,” Kakyoin says. “Yes. Good idea.” He ducks forward again, pressing his mouth hard to Jotaro’s as if he’s leaving his imprint there before he slides back so he can get to his feet in front of the chair. Jotaro feels heavy, like all his limbs have doubled in weight with the force of the arousal coursing through him to tighten his shoulders and ache heat into his belly, but he’s moving forward as quickly, following the persuasion of Kakyoin’s presence without consideration for the force of gravity urging him down. Kakyoin takes the lead out of the room but only barely: Jotaro is following close at his heels, as much from an unwillingness to let Kakyoin out of arm’s reach as from his own haste to pick back up where they left off.

It’s quiet in the back room. Jotaro has rarely seen anyone use this but himself, during those long, miserable weeks when he believed Kakyoin gone from his life forever; he’s avoided it since, unwilling to face the ghosts of his own unhappiness that surely must fill the shadows of the room and linger in the soft of the couch where he spent too many nightmare-fogged nights. But Kakyoin reaches to turn on the light as they come in, and what shadows might have survived the flood of illumination are destroyed at once by the simple fact of Kakyoin’s presence here to prove them no more than the unfounded fears they were. Jotaro lets a breath go, feeling the room as the comfort it is supposed to be for the first time in long weeks, and then Kakyoin turns to reach past him and push the door shut and Jotaro’s attention is pulled back to more immediate concerns. Kakyoin turns to him as quickly as the door latches into place, lifting his chin to turn his face up to Jotaro and reaching up to slide his arm around the other’s neck, and Jotaro lifts his hands to set at Kakyoin’s hips and ducks down to take the open invitation of Kakyoin’s mouth offered for his own.

Jotaro doesn’t know how they make it to the couch. It’s a certainty that he doesn’t get them there, at least on his own doing; he’s lost to the shift of Kakyoin’s lips fitting to his own, and the drag of fingers curling into his hair, and the arch of Kakyoin’s back curving in to press them closer together even before Jotaro has touched his hand to steady the other. He shifts them on instinct, stepping in closer to close the gap between his body and Kakyoin’s, to urge them nearer together than even their joint efforts have yet brought them, and Kakyoin rocks back against him with immediate response. Neither of them looks to see where they are going, to track the motion of their feet stumbling them across the room, but when Kakyoin’s hands tug at Jotaro’s neck to urge them down Jotaro isn’t surprised to find them falling to the support of the couch that he spent so many sleepless nights upon. He has no intention of sleeping now either, though for a far better reason than what he had before, and when Kakyoin smiles and pulls to draw him down Jotaro slides his knee closer alongside the other’s hip and obeys at once.

They fit themselves together easily, as smoothly as if they have been practicing for this all their lives. Jotaro’s knee weights at the far inside of the couch cushion, his arm steadies at the side of the couch over Kakyoin’s head, and when Kakyoin arches up beneath him Jotaro doesn’t need the persuasion of Kakyoin’s hold on him to pull him down to press against the length of the other’s body spread out beneath him. They’re still wearing their uniforms, are still carrying the weight of the clothes that Jotaro has never before felt as so much of a burden, but he can still feel the shift of tension in Kakyoin’s body beneath his, can still taste the heat of Kakyoin’s mouth at his lips, and once he has himself steadied against the support of one arm he frees the other so he can reach between them and start opening the buttons on Kakyoin’s uniform shirt.

Jotaro doesn’t think he’s particularly patient -- he doesn’t think he could manage patience even if he wanted to -- but Kakyoin is faster still, whether through natural grace or clarity of focus even as he turns his head to lean up into the heat of Jotaro’s mouth and licks in to taste the drag of Jotaro’s tongue with his own. He has Jotaro’s shirt open while Jotaro himself is still no farther than halfway down Kakyoin’s own uniform, and he shows no hesitation at all in moving on immediately to unfastening the other’s belt so he can pull open his pants as well. Jotaro’s heart is racing, his breath coming so fast he feels dizzy with the speed of it, but he doesn’t make any move or word to stop Kakyoin’s efforts. It’s the ache of anticipation that is so blurring his focus, he thinks, more even than the heat so strong in him it’s trembling his strength away to shaky need, and when Kakyoin flattens his palm to Jotaro’s bare stomach so he can slide down and dip his fingers inside the open waistband of the other’s pants Jotaro can only gasp air in response. He drags at the last of the buttons on Kakyoin’s shirtfront, pulling it loose so the fabric slides open across the span of the other’s chest, and then Kakyoin’s fingers are reaching to lay claim to the heat of his arousal and Jotaro has to give up his present pursuit to the first overwhelming surge of sensation that breaks over him. He drops his hand to the edge of the couch, leaning hard into the support to steady himself, and when he exhales the breath spills into the rasp of “ _Kakyoin_ ,” so low and rasping he sounds almost pained to his own ears.

Kakyoin shudders an exhale. “Jotaro,” he purrs, his voice low and heavy-sweet, and when Jotaro lifts his gaze to meet the other’s he finds Kakyoin watching his face, his eyes shadowed violet and his lips parted on unconscious heat at whatever he’s seeing in Jotaro’s expression. Jotaro stares at him, too incoherent to think to offer anything else, and Kakyoin tips his head, and smiles, and lifts his free hand to curl his fingers into Jotaro’s hair and draw the other down against the give of his mouth. Jotaro submits, leaning in over Kakyoin while his shoulders flex with the effort of holding himself upright, and when Kakyoin’s hold curls into a grip to stroke over him he makes a noise of shuddering heat that Kakyoin catches against the heat of his tongue.

Jotaro gives himself over entirely to Kakyoin. He has very little choice, with every slide of Kakyoin’s fingers over him sparking all his attention to starbright heat; and he has even less desire to resist. There is something impossible about this, about Kakyoin sprawling to languid heat beneath him while his fingers slide through Jotaro’s hair and pull slow-savoring friction up over Jotaro’s cock; Jotaro can’t grasp it, can’t hold to the reality of the moment. It feels like a dream, a fantasy clung to for so long it has taken on shape and weight and truth of its own; but Kakyoin is too warm against him, the curve of his smile too ready and the grip of his fingers too sure for him to be the invention it seems he must be. Jotaro kisses him as long as he can, as long as he can fix his attention to the drag of Kakyoin’s lips and the catch of his teeth and the lingering slide of his tongue; and then the heat grows too much, and he has to duck forward to press his forehead to Kakyoin’s shoulder and shudder helplessly through the waves of sensation coursing through him.

Kakyoin’s fingers in his hair slide back, his palm bracing close to the back of Jotaro’s neck, just over the midpoint of his shoulderblades, and Jotaro lets his hand at the edge of the couch go to clutch at Kakyoin’s shoulder instead of trying to support his own weight. Kakyoin’s knee is pressing between Jotaro’s thighs, a point of stability to fix them together; Jotaro can hear the heat of Kakyoin’s breathing against his ear, can feel the gust of the other’s exhales shivering sensation across his skin. His body feels tight, all of him drawing taut from the angle of his thighs to the flex of his shoulders to the length of his spine, where he’s curving in to shape his body closer over Kakyoin’s; and Kakyoin’s fingers slide up, and Jotaro groans and comes over the sliding persuasion of the other’s grip. His hips jerk forward, following the rhythm of Kakyoin’s hold on him as his body shudders with heat enough to eclipse all his awareness into hazy white for a long moment; and then Jotaro gasps a ragged breath, and his awareness fits itself back into his body, where he’s still trembling with the force of the orgasm he has just spent over Kakyoin beneath him.

He lingers for a moment, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as the glow of pleasure radiates out into the whole of his body. Then he lifts his head from Kakyoin’s shoulder so he can crush his mouth against the other’s. Kakyoin accepts this readily, with a smile at his lips that lingers until Jotaro opens his mouth so he can urge his tongue far in against Kakyoin’s own. Kakyoin lets his hold go then, loosening his grip at Jotaro’s cock so he can steady himself with a hand against the other’s chest instead, and Jotaro slides his bracing elbow down so he can cradle against the side of Kakyoin’s head to hold him still for the demand of Jotaro’s mouth at his. Jotaro lingers there for a moment, offering gratitude with the press of his mouth since he can’t find the words to speak to the ache of affection in his chest, and it’s only after Kakyoin is flushed and breathless with heat that he draws back to slide down and over the tremor of the other’s body before him.

Kakyoin’s pale skin is flushed, the same heat glowing across his cheeks touching his skin pink and radiant as Jotaro slides down over him. It’s easy to see how hard he’s breathing, to follow the rhythm of his inhales in the shift of his chest under Jotaro; Jotaro presses his mouth to Kakyoin’s skin, weighting the shape of his lips to the thud of the other’s heart beneath his mouth. Kakyoin groans a laugh that comes out sounding as much sultry as amused, and Jotaro continues down, drawing back over Kakyoin’s body as the fingers in his hair stroke appreciation across his scalp. He leaves a path of kisses over Kakyoin’s chest, watching the flush of heat rise closer to the surface of the other’s skin in answer to the friction of his lips, until he reaches the long curve of the scar laid just beneath the pattern of the other’s breathing.

Kakyoin tenses for a moment as Jotaro pauses over him, the smooth of his artificial skin drawing tight with the proof of his uncertainty, and Jotaro dips his head forward and down to press his lips gently against the translucent emerald glow flickering electric over Kakyoin’s abdomen. Kakyoin tenses beneath him, his body arching and his breath gusting as Jotaro’s lips touch him, and Jotaro would swear he can feel electricity skip from Kakyoin’s skin to the weight of the fingers at the back of his head so it can shimmer down his spine. He draws a hand down, reaching to brace hard against Kakyoin’s hip and hold the other still as he touches his lips close against Kakyoin’s artificial skin. It doesn’t flush, doesn’t rise to the glowing pink that is showing so clearly in Kakyoin’s cheeks and across the line of his collarbones; but Jotaro can feel Kakyoin’s hands working to fists in his hair, and can hear the rasp of the other’s breathing dragging on heat in his throat, and if he tips his chin down he can see the shape of Kakyoin’s arousal straining taut at the front of his pants. Jotaro’s heart is pounding hard, working over the horror of that near-loss and the painful, desperate gratitude of what he has now after all, in spite of everything, and it’s only after he’s pressed the heat of his mouth close to every inch of Kakyoin’s abdomen that he can reach that he slides back and over the edge of the couch so he can kneel alongside instead of over Kakyoin.

Kakyoin doesn’t try to sit up. He stays where he is, lying heat-heavy over the support of the couch as Jotaro unfastens his belt and draws his pants open and away from his hips. Jotaro looks up only once, as he’s lowering the zipper of Kakyoin’s pants, and that’s to find Kakyoin watching him, his head tipped to the side against the arm of the couch where he’s lying. His hair is falling over his face, curtaining his eyes until Jotaro can see none of their vivid color at all; his mouth is soft, his lips parted on the heat of the breathing Jotaro can see working in his chest. He looks sultry, flushed with desire and slack with the certain expectation of pleasure to come; for a breath Jotaro just stares at him, caught by the dark of those eyes watching him until he can hardly recall what it is he set out to do. Then the zipper catches at its lowest point, and Kakyoin’s attention flickers to Jotaro’s hands, and Jotaro presses his lips together and reaches to slide Kakyoin’s clothes open while he goes on watching the other’s face. Kakyoin’s lashes flutter as Jotaro’s fingers slide over him, his lips part on a sound too soft and low for Jotaro to hear, and Jotaro swallows and tips his head down so he can part his lips and draw Kakyoin back into the heat of his mouth.

Kakyoin doesn’t arch, doesn’t rock up to meet the friction of Jotaro’s lips pressing against him. All he does is reach for Jotaro’s hair, both his hands sinking into the tangled waves, and gust an exhale as if he’s letting free all the tension in his body with the shuddering sigh of relief at his lips. Jotaro glances up at his face, to see the angle of Kakyoin’s head at the arm of the couch, the weight of his lashes heavy over his shut eyes, the color at his mouth as he draws another deep breath into his lungs, and then he lets his own eyes shut, and gives himself over to the slide of Kakyoin’s cock past his lips and in over the work of his tongue.

Kakyoin is hot against Jotaro’s mouth. There’s a pleasure just to the feel of him, to the solid weight of his arousal pressing hard against the slick of Jotaro’s tongue, but Jotaro is as caught by the slide of Kakyoin’s fingers stroking through his hair and the tremor of tension flexing and easing in the other’s legs sprawled out over the couch before him. Jotaro angles one arm wide over Kakyoin’s thigh, letting his elbow press to hold the other still as much as to keep himself steady, but Kakyoin doesn’t make any attempt to take over the rhythm that Jotaro finds for his movement. He lies back over the couch instead, reclined into languid acceptance of whatever tribute Jotaro wishes to offer him, and Jotaro finds the awareness of that tight across his shoulders and pounding his heart with as much adrenaline as if it’s Kakyoin’s lips against his skin instead of the other way around. He keeps his head down, and his eyes shut, the better to focus on the feel of Kakyoin at his mouth and the flutter of tension underneath the bracing weight of his hand, but that doesn’t stop him from hearing the rasp of Kakyoin’s breathing, the inhales that catch and stick on the start of a moan as Jotaro moves. Jotaro feels dizzy, like he’s come detached from the mundanity of his usual life and moved into the space of fantasy made real, of desire given form, and all he can think to do is to spread his fingers wide against the tension of Kakyoin’s stomach and dip his head down closer to take the other farther back into the press of his mouth.

Jotaro doesn’t know how long they stay like that. The office is silent around them, so still he imagines the whole department is theirs for the taking, isolation so certain it offers better privacy than a locked door would. The only sound is Kakyoin’s breathing drawing deep into his chest, and the slick of Jotaro’s lips pressing to Kakyoin’s length, and Jotaro’s own heart beating fever-fast in his ears. His mind is foggy, his tongue is hot, his body is tense, and he keeps moving, urged forward by the simplicity of instinct to take Kakyoin farther back into his mouth, to gain extra speed and traction against the other by the guidance of the hands sliding through his hair and the tension of the form laid out before him. Kakyoin’s breathing is going hotter, Jotaro can hear the strain of arousal on every inhale, now, as his stomach flutters under Jotaro’s fingers and his thighs tense and ease, and then Jotaro ducks his head down to take Kakyoin’s whole length all the way back into his mouth and Kakyoin groans outright as his fingers fist into Jotaro’s hair.

Jotaro opens his eyes at that, casting his gaze up over the other’s body to glimpse his face, but Kakyoin’s head is dropped back against the arm of the couch and all Jotaro can see of him is the pale of his throat and the part of his flushed lips. Jotaro slides up, drawing friction over the other with the suction of his lips pressing close to Kakyoin’s shaft as he slides his tongue up across the head of the other’s cock, and Kakyoin’s back arches as he catches a desperate breath. Jotaro’s heart is pounding, his shoulders tense on anticipation of the pleasure he can see forming to the line of Kakyoin’s body, can taste sticky and hot at the back of his tongue, and he keeps going, offering greater force and friction to the cresting need in Kakyoin’s body. Kakyoin’s knee tips wide, digging into the back of the couch as his fingers fist at Jotaro’s hair and his chest flexes on an inhale, and then Jotaro slides his tongue up and over him and Kakyoin shudders into pleasure, giving up all the rising tension in him to quivering heat. His cock spills salt-bitter over Jotaro’s tongue, his fingers loosen to go slack in Jotaro’s hair, and against the arm of the couch his head falls to the side as he gives up the weight of his body entirely to the support beneath him. Jotaro’s spine prickles, his body radiant with secondhand arousal from the feel of Kakyoin coming beneath him, and he lowers his gaze again so he can better focus on the fit of his lips as he draws the last tremors of satisfaction free of Kakyoin’s body. It’s only after Kakyoin has gone entirely pliant that Jotaro draws back and away, pressing his lips together to swallow before he lifts his head to look back to Kakyoin.

Kakyoin hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t so much as lifted his head or stretched his foot out over the couch; but his eyes are open, and when Jotaro looks up to meet his gaze his lips catch onto a smile slow with warmth. Jotaro’s lashes dip, his throat tightens, and when Kakyoin steadies a hand at the back of his neck he comes in before the other urges him to rock up onto his knees so he can lean in over Kakyoin beneath him. Kakyoin looks up at him, his lashes heavy and cheeks flushed with the effect of his orgasm, but when he smiles it’s the same as ever, slow and careful in a way that draws Jotaro’s attention inevitably to the other’s lips.

Kakyoin’s fingers ease through his hair, smoothing back the dark waves from Jotaro’s face as he speaks. “Thank you,” he says, the words softened by the smile lingering at his lips. “That was quite a welcome back, Jotaro.”

Jotaro ducks his head into a nod. “Yeah.” He presses his lips to silence for a moment as he reaches for something to say, until finally he just draws a breath and lets simple honesty tumble from his mouth. “I missed you.”

Kakyoin’s smile spreads across the whole of his face, catching at the corners of his eyes and bright behind his gaze. “I see that,” he says, and then lets the laughter at his lips ease as his hands slide to cup Jotaro’s face between his palms. His eyes are dark as he gazes up at the other, his attention wandering over Jotaro’s features like he’s looking to memorize them. Jotaro can see the faint lines of the scars running vertically over each eye, speaking to the injury that kept Kakyoin out of commission for the last days, but there’s no uncertainty in Kakyoin’s focus on him, nothing but perfect, unflinching clarity as he gazes up into Jotaro’s face. “I missed you too, Jotaro.”

Jotaro presses his lips together in a reflexive attempt to stifle the ache of affection in his chest from spilling to words; and then he reaches to press his hand to Kakyoin’s cheek and ducks forward to offer the weight of his mouth instead of speech. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have the means to fit his feelings to the form of elegant words, but Kakyoin smiles against his mouth, and slides his hands back to stroke through Jotaro’s hair, and Jotaro shuts his eyes and lets the fit of their mouths together speak for the both of them.


	32. Afterglow

Jotaro doesn’t leave the office that night. It’s late by the time he and Kakyoin finally draw apart to take on the task of composing themselves, with the night advanced far enough that it’s the earliest hours of the next day by the time they’ve returned themselves to something like propriety. It will take an hour or more for Jotaro to get a transport to take him home, and the same on the other end for his return to the office, and with no more than a few hours before he needs to be back there seems very little point to going through the trouble.

Even if he had the full span of the night stretching before him, he thinks he might stay all the same. His apartment is silent and still, after all, absent any company but what Jotaro brings in himself, and the back room of the office has all the persuasion to linger that Kakyoin’s violet eyes and slow-spreading smile can provide. They stay awake for hours after they’ve composed themselves, Kakyoin sprawling over the couch as he tells long, rambling stories about the doctors in the infirmary and the power dynamics between the different nurses who work at each shift of the day, and Jotaro tips his head to rest against Kakyoin’s hip and watches the other’s face, letting the lull of a steady voice ease his body into contentment with every word Kakyoin says.

He doesn’t intend to fall asleep. Jotaro had thought he would stay awake all night, that the simple pleasure of Kakyoin’s company would be enough to keep his eyes open and his thoughts lingering in appreciation. But Kakyoin’s voice is soothing, and the touch that slides through his hair is more so, and in the end Jotaro wanders into sleep in spite of himself, with his head pillowed at Kakyoin’s hip and his arm stretched out alongside the other on the couch. Kakyoin must follow him, eventually, although Jotaro is too soundly asleep to notice when the other drifts into unconsciousness as well, because the next thing to register in his awareness is the sound of the office door opening to pull him from hazy dreams and back to the reality of the present. There’s the sound of footsteps covering a few strides before they pause; and then: “Inspector Kujo?” in Avdol’s resonant tone.

Jotaro lifts his head from the edge of the couch and blinks hard to clear the fog from his mind. “Yeah,” he says, answering before he can think the better of it. He looks to the couch alongside him; Kakyoin is still lying across it, turned in on his side so he’s facing Jotaro in his sleep. One hand is hanging over the edge of the cushions, where it must have slipped from the idle paths it was making through Jotaro’s hair as he drifted into sleep; the other is interlaced with Jotaro’s own, their hands clasped tightly enough to hold them together even with the distraction of sleep. Jotaro looks at their clasped hands, feeling the warmth of Kakyoin’s hold pressing close to his own, and then from the other room:

“It’s quite early for you to be in the office,” Avdol comments as the sound of his footsteps proves his approach. “Is everything well? Did something critical come up?”

“No,” Jotaro says, and pushes to his feet from where he was sitting alongside the couch.

The movement frees his hand from Kakyoin’s, which stirs the other towards consciousness in turn; Kakyoin frowns and lifts a hand to push against his hair falling over his face as he turns against the couch where he’s lying and yawns hugely before blinking up at Jotaro standing over him. “Jojo?” He grimaces and pushes himself up onto an elbow against the couch beneath him. “Sorry, did we fall asleep?”

“Yeah,” Jotaro says. “I guess.”

“Are you alright?” Avdol is drawing nearer; he’s stepping into the doorway as Jotaro looks back. “If you--” His gaze lands on Jotaro, standing alongside the couch; and then immediately drops to Kakyoin, only just pushing to sit up from where he was lying. They’re not terribly disheveled, Jotaro thinks, there’s nothing more than the wrinkles in their uniforms to speak to the night they have spent here, but Kakyoin’s eyes go wide as he sees Avdol in the doorway, and his cheeks color with self-consciousness enough to give them away immediately. Jotaro’s own face heats, his embarrassment rising in time with Kakyoin’s before he can help it, so by the time Avdol is looking back to him he’s sure the color at his cheeks is a match for the crimson rapidly suffusing the whole of Kakyoin’s pale face. They’re all silent for a moment, frozen into a tableau by the unexpected appearance of the others; and then Avdol clears his throat and speaks with so much calm that it makes Jotaro flush darker in response.

“Kakyoin,” he says, sounding as entirely unfazed as if there is no one else who could possibly be sleeping in the back room of the office next to Jotaro himself. “It’s good to see you again. Are you entirely recovered from your injuries?”

Kakyoin ducks his head into a nod. “I was discharged late last night,” he says, with as much deliberate discretion as that with which Avdol is speaking. “I’m glad to see you again. Are you cleared to return to work?”

Avdol shrugs. “For a few hours, at least,” he says. “I’ll go back in to the infirmary at lunch for another exam to see how I’m holding up under the strain of work, but they say the productivity is likely to be better for me than remaining in bed for another week.”

“Of course,” Kakyoin agrees. His flush is fading as he pushes to get to his feet alongside Jotaro and lifts his hand to smooth his hair back from his face. “Does that mean we will shortly be graced with Polnareff’s return as well?”

Avdol snorts. “That will depend on your definition of _shortly_ ,” he says. “He may arrive sometime this afternoon, if he grows too bored with idleness in his own quarters, but I don’t expect him to make an appearance at any point this morning.” He clears his throat. “I do believe Inspector Joestar intends to be joining us for at least part of the morning, however. He was speaking about some kind of celebration to commemorate our victory, now that we are all free to gather together in a space other than a hospital room.” He casts his gaze sideways to Jotaro. “Now would be a good opportunity for a shower, if you wanted to fit one in before the Inspector’s arrival. I assume you don’t intend to return to your apartment until this evening, at least?”

Jotaro sets his jaw against the burn of color over his cheeks at the acknowledgment in Avdol’s words, but he can’t deny the benefit offered by the other’s warning. “No,” he says, and turns his head to look at the corner of the room so he can better manage the effort of clearing his throat and collecting himself into a measure of composure. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Avdol says, and takes a step back out of the room. “I think I’ll go in to pick up a cup of coffee for myself from the cafeteria. Would either of you like me to bring you back something?” He ducks his head in acknowledgment of the refusals he receives and turns to leave. “I’ll return as soon as I can, then.” And he strides out of the side room, cutting back through the main space of the office to go back out into the hallway and return the way he came.

Kakyoin sighs at Jotaro’s side. Jotaro’s face still feels hot but he risks a glance at Kakyoin all the same. Kakyoin is looking out in the direction where Avdol has just left, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips. “That was kind of him.”

Jotaro huffs an exhale. “I guess.”

“It was,” Kakyoin says, and tips his head to look up at Jotaro next to him. “It could have been your grandfather who came in. Or Polnareff.” Jotaro grimaces at the idea and Kakyoin laughs and turns back. “At least this way we have the chance to present a professional appearance by the time the rest of them come in.”

Kakyoin steps forward to the doorway leading out to the main office space; Jotaro trails in his wake without thinking about the impulse to stay close to the other. They emerge into the illumination of the main office together, where Kakyoin pauses to tug his shirt a little smoother over his shoulders and slide a hand over his hair with needless concern before he turns to look back at Jotaro with his arms extended as if he’s presenting himself for inspection. “How do I look?”

Jotaro’s attention flickers over Kakyoin, from the smooth line of his uniform pants and the crisp white of his shirt up to the elegant curl of his hair alongside his face. He looks perfectly composed, as pulled-together as if he has just arrived for the work day after a full night of sleep. It’s only the curve of his smile, Jotaro thinks, with his mouth soft on possibility and his eyes dark with shared knowledge, that might give him away, and Jotaro feels sure that’s something Kakyoin saves for just him. He swallows and ducks his head down, but he can’t quite get himself to look away from the focus of Kakyoin’s gaze holding his, and his voice comes out rougher than he means it to in answer. “Good.”

Kakyoin’s smile says he hears the extra meaning of the approval Jotaro voices, but all he says is, “I’ll stay here and wait for Avdol,” as he steps back and towards his own desk at the far corner of the room. “You should have the showers to yourself this early in the morning.”

Jotaro hesitates. He knows he ought to take Avdol’s advice; he feels hazy with sleep, and he’s sure his hair is still showing the fit of Kakyoin’s fingers against the waves. But Kakyoin is here, after a night that seems like it might be a dream if Jotaro lets himself lose hold of it, and for a moment he can’t make himself move towards the door. He stands still, frowning at Kakyoin as the other moves away, and Kakyoin pauses and looks back over his shoulder as if Jotaro had spoken aloud. His expression softens, his lips curving onto a smile, and he turns to come back over the distance to where Jotaro is standing watching him. He comes in close, far nearer than he stood when Avdol was speaking to them, and Jotaro is tipping his head down to lean in towards him even before Kakyoin reaches up to touch his fingers to the other’s hair.

“I’ll be here,” Kakyoin says, speaking softly as his fingers stroke through Jotaro’s hair. He looks up to meet the other’s gaze. “Don’t worry.”

Jotaro shakes his head. “I’m not,” he says.

Kakyoin smiles. His eyes catch the light, refracting it into vivid shades of violet behind the shadow of his lashes. “Good,” he says, and draws Jotaro down to press their mouths together. Jotaro gives way immediately, ducking down to let Kakyoin kiss him as he wishes; when Kakyoin eases his hold to let them draw apart Jotaro’s hand is touching steadying force against his waist. Kakyoin flashes another smile at him, another one of the shadowed ones that makes Jotaro glad they don’t have an audience, and then he steps away to take up his position at his desk again. Jotaro stands still for a minute, collecting the rhythm of his breathing and the heat at his cheeks back into the appearance if not the fact of composure before he turns to the door to go in pursuit of that shower and what self-control a little time to himself might allow.

He doesn’t look back to see the way Kakyoin is smiling as he steps out into the hallway, but he doesn’t need to. He’s sure of the other’s expression without having to see it, and besides, he’s having trouble holding back the happiness curving soft at his own mouth.


	33. Holiday

“I feel I ought to thank you,” Kakyoin says, speaking with deliberate clarity so his voice carries over the murmur of the crowd through which he and Jotaro are walking. Jotaro glances at him sideways from beneath the shadow of the hat he has pulled down over his face, but Kakyoin is smiling out at the street in front of them rather than offering the distraction of his gaze on Jotaro’s face. “It must be something of an inconvenience to spend your free time supervising your coworker out in the city.”

Jotaro huffs a sound in the back of his throat. “Are you kidding?”

Kakyoin’s mouth tightens at the corner into a grin as he glances up at Jotaro next to him. “I might be,” he says, and tips his weight sideways so his elbow bumps against Jotaro’s forearm next to him. “It  _ is _ your downtime right now, though.”

Jotaro shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “So I can do whatever I want with it.”

“Mm,” Kakyoin hums. “Like spending it with me?” Jotaro looks back to meet Kakyoin’s smile in lieu of giving an answer aloud and Kakyoin presses against his arm in reply before returning his attention to the street before them. They continue in silence for another minute before Kakyoin takes a breath to speak into the peace once again.

“I do appreciate it,” he says. His voice is softer now, as if he’s murmuring something for Jotaro’s hearing alone rather than trying to be heard over the sound of the crowd around them. “It’s nice to have the chance to get out of the office.”

Jotaro clears his throat. “Yeah.” He draws a breath before he continues. “I’m sorry you can’t go out on your own.”

“It’s fine,” Kakyoin says easily. “Not that I wouldn’t take advantage of the greater freedom if I had it. Of course it would be great to go anywhere in the city at any time I wanted. But the Bureau gives me anything I want to read, and it’s not like my quarters are uncomfortable.” He shrugs. “I just really missed going out to the little coffee shops in the corners of the city, and my boyfriend is nice enough to take me out to those whenever we go on dates.”

Jotaro’s face heats enough that he’s sure the color staining his cheeks must be visible even in the shadow of his hat. He reaches up to tug the brim lower on his forehead until it’s almost entirely covering his face, but he still feels like he’s glowing red as he clears his throat roughly and struggles for something to frame in response. “Oh.”

Kakyoin’s laugh is bright enough that Jotaro can’t help but tip his head to look at the other, even with his face flushed crimson with self-consciousness. “You’re so easily embarrassed,” he says, and turns his head to smile up at Jotaro as they walk down the street together. “It’s been a month and a half, aren’t you used to the idea of us dating yet?”

Jotaro looks down at Kakyoin alongside him. It’s still strange to see him out of his Bureau uniform; the dark green of his shirt makes his hair look the brighter in contrast, and the softer drape of the neckline bares an extra inch of pale skin at the back of his neck. Jotaro’s attention lingers against that point, his gaze tracing the bottom edge of Kakyoin’s hairline while memory suggests the texture of flushed skin beneath his lips, and the gasp of breathing gone sultry with heat, and the grip of fingers tightening at his hair and against his back. Then Kakyoin lifts his head to look up and meet Jotaro’s gaze, and Jotaro huffs a breath and shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and looks away down the street. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

Kakyoin hums. “Well,” he says. “You’ll have plenty of time to think about it, anyway.” He lifts his hand to touch against Jotaro’s elbow, as if he means to loop their arms together, before his fingers slide down to trace the inside of Jotaro’s forearm to the angle of his wrist. Jotaro looks down as Kakyoin’s fingers slide over the cuff of his shirt to trace against where he has his hand in his pocket. There’s no demand in Kakyoin’s touch, no force to the idle drag of his fingers; he just clasps his grip around Jotaro’s wrist to squeeze for a moment before he loosens his hold and starts to draw his hand away to let it fall to his side. Jotaro watches Kakyoin’s hand slide free of his own, and then he draws his hand from his pocket so he can reach and clasp at the other’s.

Kakyoin glances up at him but Jotaro looks away down the street, fixing his gaze on the crowd around them while all his attention is turned to the slide of his fingers against Kakyoin’s. “Have to start somewhere.”

Kakyoin huffs a laugh. “I suppose so.” He tightens his hand around Jotaro’s as he interlaces their fingers, and when he leans in to press to Jotaro’s shoulder it’s without letting their hands go. Jotaro turns his head to the side to meet him, tipping in and down as quickly as Kakyoin comes up onto his toes, and when Kakyoin’s mouth brushes against his Jotaro shuts his eyes in surrender to the warmth of the other’s lips. They stand like that for a minute, their forward motion paused by the brief indulgence of a kiss; then Kakyoin rocks back onto his heels, and Jotaro clears his throat, and they turn to continue down the street once more.

They don’t look to each other again, but neither of them makes the least move to free his hand from the clasp of the other’s.


End file.
